


Purpose

by JustLikeTheSong



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLikeTheSong/pseuds/JustLikeTheSong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a GKM prompt. In a dystopian, post-apocalyptic future, Blaine and his traveling companions Puck and Karofsky stumble upon an abandoned house.  Inside, they find a terrified young man who is starving, injured, and bears the marks of torture and sexual abuse.  They set out to help him recover, but perhaps not everyone in their party has such benevolent intentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Puck sighs as he squints into the distance, the early morning light not affording much visibility. He takes a second to spit out some of his dip, and then raises his binoculars, one lens broken, back to his eyes.

There's something on the horizon. Six, maybe seven figures, moving too fast to be on foot, which means there's a good chance they are dangerous. Far enough away not to panic yet, but close enough to get moving.

Time to find a new home.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Blaine is roused from sleep a little after dawn, Puck's hand shaking his shoulder, a worried look on his face.

"Get up, Anderson. Company's on the way. Time to move on."

Blaine blinks blearily and nods his head, squeezing his tired eyes shut as he moves to roll up his thin mattress. Puck moves to the other side of the room to wake up the third and newest member of their party, Karofsky, who grunts in annoyance and tries to turn over.

"Fucking hell, wake up," Blaine hears Puck hiss, followed by the smack of flesh on flesh.

"Fuck you, Puckerman," is Karofsky's sleep-slurred reply, but he grudgingly sits up.

Before long, they've packed their meager belongings and set out, making sure to leave no trace of their presence in the rundown shack they'd made their home for the past two weeks.

If the world wasn't what it was, Blaine knows he and his companions would have never associated with one another. As it happens, he and Puck have formed an odd sort of bond, a tentative friendship that cannot quite reach blossom. It's hard to trust anyone too deeply, when throats are slit over scraps of food and people are captured and sold on a disturbingly regular basis. Puck's girlfriend was abducted and probably sold into slavery just over a year ago. Puck had shown Blaine a picture, wrinkled and with one corner torn, of a pretty girl with a sweet smile. Blaine knew that despite his tough exterior, Puck had a soft heart. When it was just the two of them, he had heard Puck crying himself to sleep on more than one night.

"That fucking sex slave trade," Puck had once sneered, "there's nothing more disgusting than that shit." He had clenched his fists in fury, a dark, ugly look on his face.

"I'm sorry," Blaine had said simply. Puck's expression had crumpled.

"I'm gonna find her one day," he had declared, his fingers ghosting over her photo, "and when I do, I'm gonna slaughter anybody that touched her. And if I see anybody doing that shit to anybody before then, I will make them beg me to kill them."

Blaine finds Puck's promise oddly reassuring; he believes every word of it, but knows that Puck's rage and violence will only be directed at those who deserve it. He can tell that Puck is, at the end of the day, a protector, and a good man to have on his side.

Blaine is glad he met Puck before Karofsky. He doesn't like the way Karofsky looks at him every so often, with a strange sort of gleam in his eye.

The three of them walk in silence, but for a few words every now and then. Puck makes a habit of scanning the horizon with his broken binoculars every quarter hour, while Blaine keeps a close scrutiny of their immediate environment for signs of recent human presence. Karofsky trudges along, pushing the things they cannot carry in a little wheelbarrow that Blaine had found a month previous.

"There's a building coming up ahead," Puck says suddenly, his binoculars pressed to his face, "An hour's walk, maybe. Should we check it out?"

Blaine and Karofsky agree to the plan without enthusiasm. Another new home is simply another place to eventually leave.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

An hour and fifteen minutes later, and they arrive at the building. It is nicer than the shack; an actual house with more than one floor. A couple of the windows are broken, but it isn't too cold this time of year, as long as they stay bundled up at night.

Blaine's stomach growls.

"I'm hungry," Karofsky declares, starting forward, "let's see if there's any food."

"Don't be an idiot," Puck glares at him, shooting out an arm to pull Karofsky back.

"Puck's right. I'm hungry, too, but we need to inspect the place first. Can't be too careful."

Puck nods at him and unsheathes his hunter's knife. Blaine pulls his switchblade from his pocket, and Karofsky picks up the crowbar he had placed in the wheelbarrow.

They move around the house as quietly as they can. The floors are made of old hardwood, and squeak unfortunately under their feet.

"There's a can of beets here," Puck whispers from the kitchen.

"Shhh" Blaine says as he hears noise from the floor above. His companions still. It's there: the slightest shuffling noise...and suddenly, a muffled cough.

"Someone's here," Karofsky says, too loudly.

"Shut up!" Puck hisses. Blaine moves towards the stairs, motioning for Puck to follow behind him.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He stills when he hears a voice from down below. Are they back? Someone new? He shudders at either prospect and tries to curl in on himself even more. The metal on his wrists pinches his skin and clanks quietly with the movement, so he stops. There's footsteps on the stairs now, light steps that still make the wooden steps creak.

He didn't think he had tears left, but they're in his eyes, and then trickling down the mix of blood and grime on his face. Couldn't he just die? He had been lying here for two days, just waiting for peace. And now this.

There's a hollow feeling in his stomach, different from the constant hunger, and it grows with each step. He covers his face with his hands just as the door swings open.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Blaine nearly drops his switchblade at the sight before him.

"Holy shit," Puck says behind him.

"Go check the other rooms, just in case," Blaine murmurs, careful not to speak too loudly, "and keep an eye out for anything that will help with the chains."

He hears Puck move away, dragging Karofsky along with him, though he cannot tear his eyes from the scene before him, as terrible and heartbreaking as it is.

There's a boy curled up on the floor, naked, his body...very badly damaged. There are bruises of various colors all over, and cuts and scratches too, most heavily concentrated on his thighs and buttocks, from what Blaine can see. His thin body is covered in dirt and grime, and several of the cuts are open and bleeding still. Two thick, iron cuffs weigh on wrists, and their chains bind him to a ring on the wall. The boy is visibly shaking, hands covering his face. Blaine moves over to him quietly, crouching down beside his head.

"You don't need to be scared," he says gently, aching to reach out and place a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder, "We won't hurt you."

The boy says nothing in reply, and Puck and Karofsky arrive back at the door. Blaine turns to look at them.

"He's very badly hurt, and starving," he tells them. Puck walks forward slowly, jaw clenched tightly and hands in fists. "Puck," Blaine says quietly, "I know you're angry, but there's no one here to take it out on. This boy needs our help."

Karofsky remains at the door, leaning against the frame, surveying the situation silently.

Puck lets out a breath and opens a fist, offering Blaine the key in his palm. "I found it in the bathroom. Maybe it'll work on the cuffs."

They crouch down beside the boy.

"This is Puck, and I'm Blaine," Blaine tries, still speaking softly. "Can you tell us your name?"

There's nothing but silence as the boy trembles before them.

"You're safe with us," Puck says, and Blaine is surprised at how gentle he sounds. "Tell us your name."

The boy lets out a little whimper. Another moment of silence, and then a rasping whisper of a response:

"Kurt."


	2. Chapter 2

"Kurt," Blaine repeats, gesturing to Puck for the key, "Okay, Kurt, don't be scared. We're going to help you get better. We're going to patch you up and find you some food and clothes, and I promise we aren't going to hurt you. But first we need to get those cuffs off your wrists. So I'm going to touch your wrists, okay?"

He reaches out and lets his fingertips graze lightly over the chafed flesh of the boy's wrists. Kurt flinches violently, and Blaine removes his hands, swallowing heavily. There's a lump in his throat, one he hasn't felt in years, and the now-foreign feeling of eyes stinging with unshed tears is upon him.

"He's gonna be skittish," Puck murmurs to him, "so you're just gonna have to push through."

Blaine nods and reaches forward, trying to ignore Kurt's whimpers as he grasps the boy's wrists gently. As soon as his fingers have encircled the thin wrists, Kurt's arms become very limp and malleable, and it is very easy to pull his hands from his face.

His face. He has a black eye and a nasty gash on his eyebrow that is still bleeding. His eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth trembles. Silent tears streak their way through a mix of blood and grime on his pale cheeks.

Blaine's hands shake a little as he works the key into the lock of the first cuff. Thankfully, it is a match. He quickly unlocks both cuffs and cradles Kurt's wrists gently in his hands. They're rubbed raw and angry red, and Blaine hears Puck hiss in sympathy as Kurt shudders at the direct contact against his tender skin.

Blaine feels an overwhelming urge to cradle the boy to him, and before he can help it, he's reaching forward and ghosting his hand over Kurt's greasy hair. Kurt lets out a broken, keening noise and shies away from him slightly, which has Blaine biting his lip and pulling his hand back quickly.

Kurt is speaking, that same barely there ragged whisper. "P-please...please..."

"It's okay," Puck tries to reassure him again, "We're not going to do anything to you. We just want you to get better."

"Can you stand?" Blaine asks tentatively. Kurt does not respond or move at all.

"He's pretty small and skinny," Puck observes as he and Blaine stand up, "I could carry him."

"I don't think he wants to be touched all that much," Blaine counters, "he doesn't trust us."

"Let's try this:" Karofsky suddenly speaks up from the door, "Hey kid, crawl over here on your hands and knees."

Blaine and Puck watch in frozen horror as Kurt struggles to all fours and begins to make his way across the room.

"No!" Puck suddenly shouts, and Kurt flinches again, raising one arm to his head as though to shield against a blow.

Puck's yell jerks Blaine out of his momentary shock and he rushes to kneel beside Kurt, who has stilled on his hands and knees. "Kurt, you don't need to do that. Let me help you up, okay? If it's hard to walk, you can lean on me."

He can sense Kurt's fear and hesitation, but breathes a sigh of relief as Kurt begins to stand. He can't resist cupping Kurt's elbow and gripping him round the waist to help him up, and he forces himself to ignore Kurt's shaking and little whimper at the contact.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Puck snarls at Karofsky as Blaine helps Kurt to stand.

Karofsky shrugs innocently. "Obviously that's what he's used to. And I got him moving, didn't I?"

"You're giving me the creeps, dude," Puck says, narrowing his eyes at their companion.

"Puck, now's not the time," Blaine telss him over Kurt's bowed head, "we need to find some water to clean him up. And someone needs to go get the stuff from the wheelbarrow. We're going to need all our first aid supplies."

  
Karofsky goes to fetch the wheelbarrow, and Puck goes to the bathroom across the hall to see if the water works. Sometimes these places are hooked up to wells. Kurt and Blaine slowly follow after him. Blaine can tell that Kurt is very weak, with hunger and abuse, but he is able to walk, even if he has to lean on Blaine a little. Blaine feels the tension in the boy's body and knows he is still terrified. He feels for the boy; helplessness is one of the most abhorrent feelings one can have, especially in this world.

"The tub works," Puck calls, a little cheer in his voice.

"That's something, at least," Blaine says as he eases Kurt into the bathroom. Kurt's eyes remain shut, but it seems he can sense the enclosed space, because he winces and tries to curl in on himself and sink to the floor.

"I think it's a little too much," Blaine comments over the run of water filling up the tub, "us both being here. Why don't you go get the first aid stuff from Karofsky and bring it back up? Tell him to start making some food; I don't think he's going to be any use up here with Kurt right now."

Puck scowls and nods his agreement.

And then Blaine and Kurt are alone.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
There was a time when Kurt Hummel would stick his fingers in his ears and start singing if someone mentioned the word sex. He remembers being very modest, dressing for the best possible coverage, even when it was too hot to be practical. He remembers being a romantic, one who liked to read old fairy tales over and over, where there was a sweet kiss at the end, and then everything faded to happily ever after. He remembers telling his father how much he just wanted to hold another boy's hand.

He has still never held a boy's hand, never kissed a boy.

But now here he sits (quite gingerly) on the edge of a bathtub, completely naked, still sore and aching in the kinds of places his former self would have blanched at, waiting, just waiting for the order to service the stranger standing in front of him.

Blaine, his name is Blaine. Blaine is bent at the waist, eyes roving over Kurt's form. Perhaps that old, innocent Kurt Hummel is trapped down deep somewhere inside him, because he shudders at the invasive, exposing gaze. He keeps his eyes lowered and his mouth shut, just waiting for the order.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The steady rush of water into the tub does something to calm Blaine, and he takes to inspecting Kurt's body to assess the extent of his injuries. Lacerations and bruises in various states of healing cover his entire form, though thankfully there don't appear to be many infections. The worst of the cuts are on the boy's thighs and buttocks, but there are several cigarette burns on his chest. There's also plenty of dried blood on the backs and insides of his thighs that doesn't seem to be from any of the cuts, and Blaine's mouth twists in disgust at the reality of what that implies. Kurt's ribs are clearly visible, and his face is drawn and gaunt.

The tub is halfway full, so he turns off the tap and pulls a cloth from his pack, which rests on the sink.

"Okay, Kurt," he says gently, frowning when the boy winces at the sound of his voice. He tries to keep his tone soothing. "We're going to get you some clothes and food, but first I need you to do something for me."

Kurt is moving from his perch on the bathtub edge, and Blaine's brow furrows in confusion as the boy slides to his knees in front of him and reaches his hands up to undo the button on Blaine's jeans. He snaps out of his reverie and backs away from the trembling fingers fumbling with the button.

"No, no!"

Kurt jerks back and lowers his head to his knees, covering his head with his hands. Blaine quickly crouches beside him.

"No, Kurt, it's okay. You don't...you don't have to do things like that, alright? Puck and I are going to take care of you, and that's all. What I meant was, you need to get in the tub. I think it'll probably sting, but we really need to get you clean; a couple of your cuts..." He cuts his own rambling off, staring at Kurt, who hasn't moved, but whose entire body is trembling violently.

He reaches forward and takes one of Kurt's hands from atop his head. He holds the shaking hand in both of his.

"Is...is this okay? I won't touch you if you don't want it." He waits until the worst of the trembling has subsided before speaking again. "Kurt, please look at me."

He's surprised when Kurt's head tips up, hesitant, and his back straightens. He waits as Kurt finally looks up and meets his eyes, and then he sucks in a sharp breath.

He can only see one eye, as the other is swollen shut, but Kurt's eyes are beautiful, a bright mix of blue and green, currently magnified by the glimmer of tears. But more than the beauty, Blaine finds himself breathless because of the pain he sees. It's a pain he knows he has never felt before, not even when he and his sister were separated two years ago. And beyond the pain lies the very worst of it: defeat. Kurt looks completely hopeless, and looking at him now, truly seeing him, Blaine feels compelled to do anything to restore just a tiny glimmer of hope to the boy's eyes.

  
"Here, let's move you to the tub, okay?" Blaine says softly. He holds Kurt's elbows as the boy struggles to stand. Kurt is looking back down at the floor now, but at least he is cooperating. "The water will be cold," Blaine warns him, "but after we get you cleaned up, we'll get you into some nice, warm clothes, alright? And I'll tell Puck to make a fire in the meantime."

Kurt says nothing but allows Blaine to help him into the tub. His skin is immediately raised with goosebumps, but he makes no noise of complaint. Blaine sits on the edge of the tub behind him and dips the cloth into the water.

"I'm just going to wipe away the dirt and grime. I know you might be uncomfortable, but let me know if you get too scared, and I promise I'll stop."

Kurt says nothing. Blaine tries to get it over with fast while still being mindful of how the contact must hurt. Washing away the worst of it just seems to make the grotesque rainbow of cuts and bruises stand out even more against the fairness of Kurt's complexion. Blaine grabs his little bar of soap from his pack (a precious commodity), and lathers up his hands a little before carding them through Kurt's hair.

Kurt's head tips back a bit, and Blaine can see his face. His eyes are closed, expression neutral, but a tiny hum comes from the boy's throat, which cheers Blaine much more than he thought such a little noise could.

When Puck returns with the first aid supplies and a change of clothes, Blaine reluctantly brings Kurt out of whatever safe place he had found in his head. Kurt does not look at them, but his face crumples once more and his body curves in on itself.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
He had been floating, floating in a cool, safe tank of water. His mother was running her fingers through his hair gently, singing a soothing lullaby. He hummed a little but did not join in, content to hear her sweet alto.

"Kurt." A stranger's voice...no, Blaine's voice. Kurt does not open his eyes, but he is brought back to reality. Cold, dirty water in a tub. Sitting naked as this strange man washes him. Not his mother's hands in his hair, but Blaine's (though they are surprisingly gentle). He can hear Blaine speaking with the other one, Puck. Puck has brought medical supplies and clothes for him.

He curves in on himself, wondering what they want. In a way, the not knowing is the worst part. Puck hasn't touched him at all, and Blaine only has for practical purposes, or in what have seemed to be comforting gestures. He doesn't want to anger them. He has to be careful; there's no telling when things will change.

Blaine helps him out of the tub and uses his coat to pat him dry. Kurt stands as Blaine applies ointment to the worst of his cuts, concentrating on his thighs and ass. Tears roll down his cheeks, not from the stinging pain (which is laughably minimal), but from the humiliation.

He never gets used to the humiliation.

Then Blaine is helping him into a pair of gray sweatpants. He is shaking and can feel Blaine's warm breath on the bare skin of his collarbone. When Blaine's fingers graze over his hip, he flinches and accidentally clips Blaine's jaw with his elbow. He falls to his knees and cowers as Blaine curses violently and rubs at his jaw.

He can't look up as Blaine draws near; he only tries to press himself further into the wall.

"Hey, it's okay, Kurt," Blaine's voice is velvety smooth and feather soft, and Kurt can't get used to it, "I'm not mad. I'm sorry I yelled; it wasn't directed at you."

He sits down next to Kurt on the floor, making himself lower. Kurt feels the need to crouch down even further. Blaine holds his hand again, his thumb grazing over his knuckles, and tells Kurt to look at him again. Kurt obeys, meeting the warm hazel eyes reluctantly. They are too intense to look at for long.

"I know you don't trust me, and I don't blame you. But you can. I promise."

With Blaine's help, Kurt finishes dressing, and the two of them slowly make their way down the stairs. Kurt can smell soup cooking, but he dares not hope that he will get to taste it, no matter what his new owners have said.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt lies awake that night for hours. His body and mind are tired but he cannot sleep. He willfully keeps his eyes closed, but only just. They are ready to snap open any moment. He simply lays there waiting for the door to creak open, for one of the new men to come in the room and tell him what he is to do.

But it doesn't happen.

He is in the small room on the main level of the house, the only room with an actual bed. The decision for him to sleep there had been a point of contention.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He had stared at the bowl of thin soup Puck had set in front of him, sitting on an old wooden chair, eyes demurely lowered, hands gripping the edges of his seat. Waiting...wondering...what was he supposed to do? The three men had sat around him, arguing.

"I don't see why he gets the bed. It's been weeks since I've had a decent night's sleep," Karofsky had complained sourly, jabbing the air with his spoon.

"Yeah?" Kurt had cringed at the angry, tense tone of Puck, "How fucking long do you think it's been since HE had a good night's sleep? Do you like, try extra hard to be this stupid, or what?"

"I just-" Karofsky had started.

"There are three rooms upstairs, one for each of us," Blaine had interrupted calmly, "and I think Kurt would like it best if he could sleep on the main floor by himself. What do you think, Kurt?"

Silence had loomed as the three men stared at him. His fingers had tightened on the bottom edge of the chair seat.

"He isn't eating," Puck had observed tersely. At his disapproving tone, Kurt had started and brought trembling hands to grip the bowl of cooling soup in front of him. His shaking fingers had scrabbled at the bowl until it slipped and upended on the table.

Kurt had sat frozen during the resulting flurry of movement; Karofsky had reached for the bowl, while Blaine and Puck, sitting closest to him, jumped up to avoid the spilled contents.

"Mother fuck!" Karofsky had bellowed, slamming his fist agaist the table, right into the mess. "What a fucking waste!"

Kurt had slipped to the floor and onto his knees by this point, bent forward and curled into a little ball, arms covering his head.

"Why the fuck are we giving this fucking random kid our food?!" Karofsky had continued to scream, rounding the table towards where Kurt had fallen to his knees. Kurt had felt the tremors in the floor with each stomp of the burly man's feet, and he had let out a cry of fear and slipped away.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
When he had next become aware, Puck and Karofsky had left, and Blaine had been sitting beside him on the sagging love seat in the living room, holding his hand and humming softly, the pad of his thumb brushing gently over Kurt's knuckles. He had started and pulled his hand away, and then had cringed, immediately regretting the action and waiting for a slap. But Blaine hadn't slapped him; he had stood up, gone to the kitchen, and brought back a fresh bowl of hot soup.

"It's left over from mine and Puck's," Blaine had explained, "but don't worry. We get enough food most of the time, and you really need it. Much more than we do right now. Kurt," he had said, sitting back down on the sofa beside him, his voice still that soothing velvet sound, "will you let me help you get better?

He had wanted to tell himself that he complied because "No" didn't mean anything, but it was more than just that. He had found himself meeting Blaine's eyes of his own volition for the first time as he had nodded his head. Blaine had grinned, wide and beautiful but too much, too bright, and Kurt had dropped his gaze again. But his hands had only trembled a little as Blaine had placed the bowl of soup in them, had slowly covered Kurt's hands with his own, and had helped him raise the bowl to his lips.

Kurt had tried to sink to his knees and crawl when Blaine told him it was time for bed, but Blaine had held both of his hands in his own and said, "Walk with me, please." So he had, of course, tense with Blaine's left arm wrapped around his waist, his right hand gripping Kurt's own. Blaine had eased him down onto the bed, foreign in its softness, and told him to roll onto his stomach.

"I just want to check on the worst of the cuts, okay, Kurt? Blaine had said, whisper-quiet and gentle. Kurt had said nothing as Blaine had slid Kurt's pants down to his knees. He had waited, forehead pressed into the mattress and hands clinging to the material at his sides, for Blaine to climb on top of him. But he hadn't. And soon his pants had been sliding back up to cover him again.

"Doesn't look too bad," Blaine had muttered, almost as though he were speaking to himself rather than Kurt, "We'll let them breathe for the night and then see what we can do to dress them in the morning."

Kurt's breath had caught in his throat briefly as Blaine's hand ghosted over his hair. But then Blaine had softly said, "Good night," and shut the door, and Kurt had been alone, sleeping on a real bed with a real mattress, wearing clothes, clean and with food in his stomach.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
It confuses him so much. He doesn't understand what he's supposed to do, what these people want from him. He lies awake, waiting waiting waiting until exhaustion finally consumes him and his eyelids slide closed on a question, what will they want?

Puck cries himself to sleep that night. He doesn't sob, but tears stream down his face, falling from his eyes and then slipping across his face as he lies on his side, clutching at her photo, thinking of her, where she must be, if she's still alive, what people could be doing to her. He thinks of the kid downstairs, that scrawny, fragile kid with circles under his eyes, bruises on his face, and cuts on his body. He knows it doesn't do any good to be soft in this hard world, but he knows, deep down, that she deserves the tears he sheds, and that kid does, too.

Blaine has trouble sleeping. He lies on his back, staring at the cracked ceiling, sick to his stomach. The thin tomato soup churns in his belly and his eyes are bright with unshed tears. He can't help but feel some of the pain that he sees in those startlingly beautiful eyes, so haunted and guarded. He makes himself fall asleep by planning out the next day in his head: what they should give Kurt to eat, what he can say and do to show Kurt he can trust him, how to discuss with Karofsky about controlling his temper...but perhaps most of all, how to hold Kurt's hand without feeling him tense at the contact.

Karofsky touches himself that night, biting down on the collar of his shirt to stifle his groans. He thinks of the pretty little boy downstairs, so delicate, so, so easily broken, snapped in half like a twig. He lets out a quiet moan at the image of the boy crawling towards him, at the sight of tears rolling down his cheeks. That pale, glowing skin beautifully marred by angry red cuts and blossoming purple bruises. He'll wait. And he'll get what he wants

 


	4. Chapter 4

Each night, it takes a little less time for Kurt to fall asleep. Blaine, Puck, and Karofsky have been at the house with him for three days. He wishes he could leave, because he hates the house so much, but where would he go? He never goes upstairs, especially not to that room. He would have no reason to, anyway, as Karofsky had claimed it for his sleeping quarters.

Kurt spends most of his time with Blaine. Blaine is in charge of rationing out their supplies, budgeting their bartering goods, and generally making sure there’s enough to go around. Kurt knows it’s going to be harder with an extra person weighing them down. He’ll sit with Blaine in the house as Blaine tallies things up on any writing surface he can find, doing the complicated math in his head. Puck is usually off scouting or hunting, and Karofsky spends most of his time gathering firewood and repairing things. Everyone has a purpose. Everyone but Kurt.

Part of him still waits to find out what they expect him to do in order to earn his keep. But a bigger part of him lets his body relax when it’s just he and Blaine in the room, urges him to look up every once in a while to study the furrow of Blaine’s brow as he marks a tally. He almost feels safe when it’s just Blaine. Puck, with his gruff voice and scary hair, sets Kurt on edge. And Karofsky…Karofsky just scares him, with his short temper and open hostility.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Blaine wants to keep one eye on Kurt at all times. He watches him closely over the next few days, making sure he at least has a little to eat. It’s slow progress, but it’s only to be expected. Kurt is mostly silent, and it pains Blaine to his very core when Kurt flinches at soft touches or sudden loud noises. It’s the little things that keep him hopeful, like how five days in, Kurt stopped trying to crawl on his hands and knees. How at night, when Blaine checks his wounds, he doesn’t grip the material of the mattress quite as tightly, as though he’s just waiting for Blaine to hurt him. How after about a week, Kurt willingly meets his eyes more often than not.

He does his best to keep Kurt comfortable, to make sure he’s warm and in as little pain as possible as his wounds heal. He’s glad that Kurt seems to relax, at least when it’s just the two of them. It’s best when Karofsky isn’t around at all, and while Blaine understands where Puck is coming from, he does wish his friend could be a little less gruff Kurt.

They’ve been at the house for seven days, and that afternoon, Blaine is trying to calculate how much longer their supply of rice will last them. They’ve really lucked out finding a house with running water from a well, even though he does wish they could leave, if only because he guesses Kurt must hate being here. As he works out the figures on the paper, he begins to hum a little song he and his sister used to sing, about a blackbird with broken wings. He enjoys the way it fills up the silence in the living room, so he adds in the lyrics. " _Take these broken wings and learn to fly…_ "

  
About halfway through the chorus, he realizes a soft, beautiful voice is harmonizing with his own, oh so quietly. It sounds wonderful, like the two voices are meant to go together. Unfortunately, once he becomes aware of it, he stutters over the lyrics, and realizing the voice’s source, whips his head to the side to look at Kurt. Kurt, who now has his mouth clamped shut and is staring at him with, wide, alarmed eyes, his entire body taut and his shoulders at his ears.

“Kurt…”

Kurt’s gaze drops to the floor and he hunches over, curling in on himself. “I’m – I’m sorry…” he whispers.

“No, don’t apologize,” Blaine rushes over to him, and seeing Kurt shrink back and away from him at the sudden movement, he takes Kurt’s hand and cradles it in between his own. “Your voice sounds really nice. You don’t need to be afraid to use it, singing or talking, around us, okay?” Kurt is shivering still, so Blaine sits beside him and runs his hand down Kurt’s back, just skimming over the sweatshirt he is wearing. Blaine is happily surprised when Kurt barely flinches at the contact.

“Is this alright?” he murmurs, keeping his voice soft and smooth to comfort him, “Just tell me if it isn’t.”

There’s a beat, and then Kurt replies, “It…it’s okay.” His whole body is still tense, but Blaine is still relieved. He runs his hand up and down Kurt’s back once more, and then squeezes Kurt’s hand before getting up.

“I’m going to get back to figuring out these rice rations, and I’m gonna sing again. If you want to sing with me again, Kurt, you won’t hear any objections from me.”

He settles down and starts a new song. He finishes it, and then begins another. On the chorus, Kurt’s voice joins his. It’s quiet and tentative, but it’s there.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
Kurt gradually finds himself actually feeling comfortable around Blaine, but it isn’t until two weeks after Blaine’s group first finds him that he begins to allow himself to feel at ease with the whole situation, and the catalyst occurs when Blaine is nowhere to be seen.

Blaine has relieved Puck of his duties of scouting for the evening, and Karofsky is out back chopping firewood. Kurt feels like hyperventilating as he sits alone in the kitchen with Puck; it’s the first time he is alone with someone other than Blaine. Puck doesn’t appear to be paying Kurt’s presence much mind, but he is growing increasingly frustrated as he attempts to clean his binoculars, which he had dropped in some mud the previous day. He keeps making grunting noises and angry sighs, and the scowl on his face has Kurt hanging on the edge of his seat, ready to flee or at least drop to his knees.

“If the good lens is ruined, I swear to fucking God…” Puck bites out between gritted teeth, furiously scraping a little knife along the rim of the lens. Kurt watches him warily, far too cognizant of the angry blotches appearing on his cheeks and neck and the furious clenching of his jaw. Puck curses as the knife slips and stabs his finger, and he waves his hand about before sticking the injured finger in his mouth.

  
“Kurt,” Puck bites out, examining his bleeding finger, and Kurt has to grip the edge of the table so he doesn’t fall out of his seat, “Do me a favor and run the binoculars under the water while I wrap up this finger,” he says handing his prized possession over to Kurt’s trembling and reluctant hands with a passing glance.

Kurt slides out of his chair and walks to the sink, running the binoculars under the cold water as Puck fishes a spare bit of left over gauze out of the first aid supply. Puck’s sitting back down and Kurt is pressing the binoculars to his sweatshirt to try them off a little while his free hand reaches to shut the tap off. “Hey, almost done?” Puck’s voice, so sudden, and so loud (unlike Blaine, who always speaks so low and gentle) has Kurt jumping on the spot. The binoculars slip from his grip, and his eyes widen and his hands claw at air as it falls to the floor with a terrifying crack.

  
Puck twists in his seat. “What…?” His eyes land on the binoculars. The silence is deafening and all Kurt can seem to do is stare at the broken binoculars in complete horror, but then he hears the scrape of Puck’s chair against the floor as Puck begins to stand up and looks up. A fleeting glance at Puck’s wide eyes has Kurt choking on his own breath as he scrambles away from him, almost tripping on his own feet and stumbling backwards as Puck steps over the binoculars towards him. He winces as his still healing back slams into the broken refrigerator and he raises his hands to cover his face as Puck advances, unable to stop a broken whimper from escaping his throat.

“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Puck sounds awkward as he grabs Kurt’s hands and pulls them away from his face firmly, “I mean, yeah, it sucks about the binoculars,” he adds, glancing over his shoulder at the broken instrument on the floor, “but you’re a person, and I’m not gonna, like, hit you or anything over something like that.” He grips Kurt’s shoulders, his touch not ungentle. “Listen, I’m not an asshole. I know you’re scared, but it’d be cool if you stopped expecting me to be one all the time, okay?”

Kurt doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, but he looks up and meets Puck’s eyes. There’s an earnestness there he wasn’t expecting, but even more startling, an undercurrent of pain that adds years to his appearance. He nods jerkily and Puck claps him on the shoulder before moving away.

“Well, fuck,” Puck says as he crouches down to look at the damage.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt offers quietly.

“Don’t be,” Puck dismisses his apology on a sigh, “the mud probably ruined them anyway. Hopefully I’ll find something soon, once we get out of here.” Puck stares at him for a moment. “I got a deck of cards. The two of hearts is missing so we’ll just take them all out. You know how to play poker?” Kurt shakes his head, lowering his eyes. “Go Fish it is. Come on.”

Kurt lets his shoulders relax, and feels the beginnings of a smile tugging on the corner of his lips as he follows Puck into the living room.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
Blaine brings up the incident that night as he applies ointment and fresh bandages to Kurt’s healing cuts. Most of the cut on his chest and back have healed, but the gash on his brow is taking longer, and his ass and backs of his thighs still have a ways to go. Kurt doesn’t really think Blaine will touch him in a sexual way anymore, but he doesn’t like Blaine seeing him like this for a new reason, one he can’t quite identify. He doesn’t want Blaine to see the ugliness, the weakness, how pathetic he is. He tries to squash down those feelings and thoughts, because he is scared of what they might mean, and there’s already so much to be afraid of.

“Puck told me about what happened earlier this evening,” Blaine says, and at Kurt’s silence, continues, “How are you doing?”

“I’m…okay,” Kurt replies with more certainty than he feels, what with Blaine’s fingers ghosting over his bare skin, “I was scared at first, but…it was okay. He…he won’t hurt me.”

“That’s right.” Kurt can hear the excited pride and happiness in Blaine’s voice as he confirms the assertion. “Puck’s a good guy. He’s rough around the edges, but he has a good heart.” Blaine slides Kurt’s pants back up and Kurt turns over gingerly.

Blaine looks at Kurt for a long moment, and Kurt doesn’t feel the need to look away, because there’s such tenderness in Blaine’s eyes. “Here,” Blaine says, shrugging out of his hoodie, “it’s getting colder and colder each night, and this house is draftier than I thought. We’ll only be able to stay here a couple more weeks.” He hands the hoodie to Kurt, squeezing his hand as he relinquishes it. “I know you don’t want to be here, but we need to stay for now. You’ve been healing really well, and you’ve put on some weight, which is good, but I don’t think we should move just yet.”

“I know,” Kurt says, and Blaine smiles his beautiful smile before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

Kurt slips into Blaine’s hoodie and buries nose into the collar, breathing in the comforting, heady Blaine-smell.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It’s two nights later, after Blaine has said goodnight, when the creak of his door wakes him up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sexual assault (or at least the very strong suggestion of it).

“…Blaine?” Kurt whispers, sitting up on his elbows.

But the figure in the doorway is too tall and far too bulky to be Blaine.

“Is…is something wrong?” Kurt asks hesitantly, sitting up fully.

Karofsky doesn’t answer him directly, but he speaks, quietly, as he steps over the threshold into the room. “Do you know why I chose that room as my place to sleep?” His eyes remain fixed on Kurt, unwavering. “I put my mattress down right over the spot you were curled up in when we found you. The chains are still there.”

Kurt’s skin is crawling, but for some reason, he shifts off of his bed and stands, rather than dropping to his knees. He grips his hands tightly in front of his body.

“It looked so…right. You laying there. Naked, chained up. Like you knew your place,” Karofsky continues softly, shutting the door behind him, “But now…now you walk freely, wearing our clothes on your back, eating our food, lazing around every day. And what do you do to earn it?”

Kurt shivers, but his feet are rooted to the spot. His jaw seems clenched shut. He wraps his arms around his torso, fingers burying into the material of Blaine’s hoodie.

“So,” Karofsky says, taking another step into the room, “I think it’s time for you to start making a contribution. You were in pretty rough shape when we first got here, so I thought I’d wait a little while for you to heal up a bit. Otherwise I know you’d be a lousy fuck. Not that I’m expecting much.” He leers at Kurt and strides even closer. Their faces are too close. Kurt is shaking as he stares up into those dark, beady eyes. He looks away and tries to blink away his tears as Karofsky presses a single finger against his chest and drags it down, down, down, over his stomach, right to the waistband of his pants. And then that finger is wiping against the moisture on his cheek. “Don’t hold back your tears. I think you look even prettier when you cry.”

Kurt finally finds his voice. “They…Blaine and…they’re right up…”Kurt glances at the ceiling. He knows his room is under the bathroom upstairs, which is next to Blaine’s room.

“You think they don’t know I’m here, right now? Of course they do,” Karofsky smiles, his tone chiding and indulgent, “Puck and Blaine know, just like you and I know, that everyone needs to pull their weight. Everyone has a purpose. This is yours.”

“But Blaine…he said…”

“Blaine said he and Puck don’t expect anything like this from you?” Kurt’s mind races back. Yes, that was what Blaine had told him. That he didn’t need to do things like this. He didn’t have to crawl; he didn’t have to use his body to pay for their generosity and kindness. Karofsky laughs, trailing his hand across Kurt’s chest, playing with the zipper on the hoodie. “Well, Puck will fuck anything with boobs, but he doesn’t go near boys. As for Blaine, well, he’s kind of picky. Why would he want to screw a dirty little slut like you?”

  
Kurt flinches away for the first time. He’s astonished to find blood flushing to his cheeks, despite the circumstances, even as he bites his lip to hold back his tears. He stumbles away from Karofsky but soon finds his back against the wall.

Karofsky pauses and considers him carefully.

“Ah,” he sighs out mockingly, “someone has a crush. That’s it, isn’t it? You wish Blaine was here, don’t you? With his pretty curls and big eyes, ordering you onto your knees, telling you to strip. You’re just dying to suck his cock, aren’t you? To let him fuck you.”

“No,” Kurt whispers, shaking his head. His eyes are wild and he can only stare at the ground by his feet as he presses himself against the wall, almost as though it might absorb him, “no, no, no…”

“Of course you are. Such a slut. But that’s good. You know it’s what you’re good for. You always knew, didn’t you? And the people who were here before; they knew too. So really, you’re lucky I’m not as picky as Blaine, so you can actually be useful. Because otherwise, we’d have to toss you out,” Karofsky slides his hand up, and circles Kurt’s throat, squeezing gently, “or kill you, maybe.”

“Blaine wouldn’t…Blaine wouldn’t want-“ Kurt struggles to speak against the pressure of Karofsky’s hand on his throat, against his own sinking feeling of abandonment and resignation.

“What Blaine wants is for you to stop being such a fucking burden,” Karofsky suddenly snaps, still keeping his voice low. His spittle flies in Kurt’s face, his hand tightens a little, not enough to cut off air, but enough to almost leave fresh bruises. His other hand presses against Kurt’s stomach, then grabs a fistful of material and yanks, pulling Kurt’s undershirt out from where it is tucked into his pants. Kurt gasps, and when he tries to push Karofsky’s hand away with his own, his wrist is caught in a strong grip and twisted painfully.

Karofsky pulls Kurt away from the wall by the front of his hoodie and slams him back, pressing their bodies together and whispering in Kurt’s ear, affecting a soothing tone. Kurt chokes out a sob when he can feel him, hard, digging into his hip. “You think he likes you trailing after him every day, moping around, doing nothing but sitting there while the rest of us work hard for the things we have to share with you? What kind of world do you think we’re living in? Did you think the three of us would just let you keep on leeching off of us? You had to know this was coming. It’s not like you’re good for anything else, and we all know it.”

Kurt lets go of the last thought of Blaine, because it hurts too much to know that Blaine thinks of him like that. He doesn’t want to feel the shame. He lets it go, and he starts to float away. The tension leaves his body, and he slumps against the wall, held up by Karofsky’s leg, now in between his thighs.

“Good,” a voice murmurs distantly, “now get on your knees.”

His eyes are dry. He slides to his place on the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sexual assault (or at least the very strong suggestion of it).

“…Blaine?” Kurt whispers, sitting up on his elbows.

But the figure in the doorway is too tall and far too bulky to be Blaine.

“Is…is something wrong?” Kurt asks hesitantly, sitting up fully.

Karofsky doesn’t answer him directly, but he speaks, quietly, as he steps over the threshold into the room. “Do you know why I chose that room as my place to sleep?” His eyes remain fixed on Kurt, unwavering. “I put my mattress down right over the spot you were curled up in when we found you. The chains are still there.”

Kurt’s skin is crawling, but for some reason, he shifts off of his bed and stands, rather than dropping to his knees. He grips his hands tightly in front of his body.

“It looked so…right. You laying there. Naked, chained up. Like you knew your place,” Karofsky continues softly, shutting the door behind him, “But now…now you walk freely, wearing our clothes on your back, eating our food, lazing around every day. And what do you do to earn it?”

Kurt shivers, but his feet are rooted to the spot. His jaw seems clenched shut. He wraps his arms around his torso, fingers burying into the material of Blaine’s hoodie.

“So,” Karofsky says, taking another step into the room, “I think it’s time for you to start making a contribution. You were in pretty rough shape when we first got here, so I thought I’d wait a little while for you to heal up a bit. Otherwise I know you’d be a lousy fuck. Not that I’m expecting much.” He leers at Kurt and strides even closer. Their faces are too close. Kurt is shaking as he stares up into those dark, beady eyes. He looks away and tries to blink away his tears as Karofsky presses a single finger against his chest and drags it down, down, down, over his stomach, right to the waistband of his pants. And then that finger is wiping against the moisture on his cheek. “Don’t hold back your tears. I think you look even prettier when you cry.”

Kurt finally finds his voice. “They…Blaine and…they’re right up…”Kurt glances at the ceiling. He knows his room is under the bathroom upstairs, which is next to Blaine’s room.

“You think they don’t know I’m here, right now? Of course they do,” Karofsky smiles, his tone chiding and indulgent, “Puck and Blaine know, just like you and I know, that everyone needs to pull their weight. Everyone has a purpose. This is yours.”

“But Blaine…he said…”

“Blaine said he and Puck don’t expect anything like this from you?” Kurt’s mind races back. Yes, that was what Blaine had told him. That he didn’t need to do things like this. He didn’t have to crawl; he didn’t have to use his body to pay for their generosity and kindness. Karofsky laughs, trailing his hand across Kurt’s chest, playing with the zipper on the hoodie. “Well, Puck will fuck anything with boobs, but he doesn’t go near boys. As for Blaine, well, he’s kind of picky. Why would he want to screw a dirty little slut like you?”

  
Kurt flinches away for the first time. He’s astonished to find blood flushing to his cheeks, despite the circumstances, even as he bites his lip to hold back his tears. He stumbles away from Karofsky but soon finds his back against the wall.

Karofsky pauses and considers him carefully.

“Ah,” he sighs out mockingly, “someone has a crush. That’s it, isn’t it? You wish Blaine was here, don’t you? With his pretty curls and big eyes, ordering you onto your knees, telling you to strip. You’re just dying to suck his cock, aren’t you? To let him fuck you.”

“No,” Kurt whispers, shaking his head. His eyes are wild and he can only stare at the ground by his feet as he presses himself against the wall, almost as though it might absorb him, “no, no, no…”

“Of course you are. Such a slut. But that’s good. You know it’s what you’re good for. You always knew, didn’t you? And the people who were here before; they knew too. So really, you’re lucky I’m not as picky as Blaine, so you can actually be useful. Because otherwise, we’d have to toss you out,” Karofsky slides his hand up, and circles Kurt’s throat, squeezing gently, “or kill you, maybe.”

“Blaine wouldn’t…Blaine wouldn’t want-“ Kurt struggles to speak against the pressure of Karofsky’s hand on his throat, against his own sinking feeling of abandonment and resignation.

“What Blaine wants is for you to stop being such a fucking burden,” Karofsky suddenly snaps, still keeping his voice low. His spittle flies in Kurt’s face, his hand tightens a little, not enough to cut off air, but enough to almost leave fresh bruises. His other hand presses against Kurt’s stomach, then grabs a fistful of material and yanks, pulling Kurt’s undershirt out from where it is tucked into his pants. Kurt gasps, and when he tries to push Karofsky’s hand away with his own, his wrist is caught in a strong grip and twisted painfully.

Karofsky pulls Kurt away from the wall by the front of his hoodie and slams him back, pressing their bodies together and whispering in Kurt’s ear, affecting a soothing tone. Kurt chokes out a sob when he can feel him, hard, digging into his hip. “You think he likes you trailing after him every day, moping around, doing nothing but sitting there while the rest of us work hard for the things we have to share with you? What kind of world do you think we’re living in? Did you think the three of us would just let you keep on leeching off of us? You had to know this was coming. It’s not like you’re good for anything else, and we all know it.”

Kurt lets go of the last thought of Blaine, because it hurts too much to know that Blaine thinks of him like that. He doesn’t want to feel the shame. He lets it go, and he starts to float away. The tension leaves his body, and he slumps against the wall, held up by Karofsky’s leg, now in between his thighs.

“Good,” a voice murmurs distantly, “now get on your knees.”

His eyes are dry. He slides to his place on the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sexual assault, violence

The next two days are very busy for Blaine. Karofsky finds an old first aid kit in the shed out back that very morning, but not much else of use. Puck has decided to widen his scouting and hunting perimeter, and by noon he’s back at the house with quite the haul. He’s found a dilapidated shack just two miles south, past a couple hills, complete with two decomposing bodies. But he also finds a hand held telescope with only one crack in the lens, five cans of food, a sewing kit, and a few socks, pants and shirts.

Blaine’s excited about this sudden windfall, particularly the medical supplies, as Kurt’s injuries had all but depleted their own stock, and spends the better part of the next two days taking inventory and adjusting the ration schedules. Still, he can’t help but be aware, in the back of his mind, of some sort of absence.

It’s around noon on the third day when he figures out what has been missing. He’s singing a cheerful little tune, and he suddenly realizes that Kurt isn’t singing along with him. It shouldn’t be significant; Kurt doesn’t sing every song with him normally, anyway, because he doesn’t know all the lyrics and sometimes just prefers to listen, but it seems like more than just silence. The absence of Kurt’s voice suddenly seems almost like negative sound.

Blaine stops singing and looks to his side. Kurt’s sitting on the sagging couch cross-legged, his hands in his lap. His head is tilted down and he’s staring at the floor.

“Kurt?” Blaine frowns as Kurt jumps slightly at the sound of his name. “Are you alright?”

“…yes.”

“Did you want to sing with me?”

Another long pause. “Do you want me to?”

Blaine turns fully in his seat to look at Kurt. He wants to go to him, but something stops him; something feels odd about approaching him. He has seen Kurt in the most vulnerable, broken of places, when he couldn’t even lift his eyes to meet Blaine’s, but this is different, somehow. Worse.

“You know I love when you sing, but only if you want to.”

When Kurt doesn’t respond, Blaine fiddles with the pencil in his hands. “Kurt…you know you can tell me anything, right? I won’t…you know it’s safe to, right?”

Kurt’s head jerks a little. “I know,” he says in the same quiet, dull voice he’s been using during the whole conversation.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Blaine is surprised when Puck brings it up that night while they’re washing up before bed.

Puck clears his throat. “What’s up with Kurt?” he asks as he splashes water on his face.

Blaine looks at him through the mirror, startled. “You’ve noticed, too? He’s been…subdued.”

“Subdued? The kid’s miserable. It’s almost like when we first found him, cept he’s not as banged up anymore.”

Blaine sighs, turning and leaning against the sink. “I know. I wonder if he’s just…maybe it’s just part of the recovery process? Like, he needs to backslide in order to really heal? I don’t know.” He frowns in frustration. “He’s been so strong, but what he went through…I can’t even imagine the horror of it.” He glances up at notices the far away, hollow look on Puck’s face. “Shit, Puck, I’m sorry.”

Puck shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “Don’t worry about it,” he mutters, gathering up his things, “I wanna help him too, but I know less about this kind of thing than you do. You’re better with the feelings and stuff anyway.” He rushes out of the room and Blaine doesn’t call him back. He knows Puck wants to hide his face.

Despite Puck’s words, Blaine can’t help but feel like a total failure the entire next couple days. He has no idea what he’s doing, as much as he might have convinced his friend. He doesn’t know what to do for Kurt, how to comfort him, because what he’s been doing seems to have no effect. He finds no solace in his meticulous tallies and inventories; the work is monotonous enough that his thoughts drift easily, and they always drift to Kurt, who just sits and stares silently for hours on end. He’s glad that Kurt is still eating, but it makes his heart ache to watch him withdraw into himself after the progress he’s made.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
Blaine has said goodnight and shut the door. Kurt lies awake, staring at the ceiling. It’s the fifth night, in a row. He doesn’t bother letting himself fall asleep for a couple hours, only to be jolted awake by the creak of the door like he was the first night.

He doesn’t allow himself to think of things that comfort him, if he can help it. He doesn’t want them tainted. He knows he’ll probably slip away, though, like he has every night, to someplace safe and calm and happy.

There’s a knock at the door. Kurt’s lips purse at the pretend formality of it as the door swings open after he gives no response.

“Strip.”  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Blaine hasn’t been sleeping well, and tonight is no exception. He tosses and turns, drifting in and out of a half-sleep. He needs to pee, and at least that will be a break from lying around feeling useless. He gets up off his mattress and shuffles towards the door, hunching his shoulders. He’s pretty sure he’ll be able to see his breath in the air in a week’s time.

He’s just finishing washing his hands and is about to raise his foot to flush the toilet when he hears something. He glances down and sees a rusted heat register, listening closely. There’s definitely a noise. He gets on his hands and knees and presses his ear to the register. There it is: a mostly steady, if at times erratic, thud, thud, thud. And occasionally something else that’s quieter. It takes Blaine a moment to recognize the muffled sounds for what they are: groans.

Kurt’s room is right below the bathroom.

Blaine is out of the bathroom and flying down the stairs, taking them two, three at a time, and gripping the wobbly banister as he swings around and runs to Kurt’s door. Is Kurt hurting himself? He cannot spare a minute longer and so throws open the door. The sight that greets him has Kurt’s name dying on his lips.

  
Kurt’s there, on the mattress, naked. Blaine can’t see his face because he’s hiding it in his hands and it would be pressed against the mattress if he weren’t. And there’s Karofsky, still clothed but with his sweatpants pooled around his knees. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his jaw clenches while he groans and grips the bare flesh on Kurt’s hips and thrusts on top of him. Inside him.

Blaine isn’t fully aware of the animal scream of rage that he lets out as he hurtles towards Karofsky, pivoting a little to slam into him from the front and throw him off of Kurt and to the floor. He has enough momentum that Karofky’s head flies back and whacks against the floor.

Blaine wants to punch him. To kick him. To bite, scratch, shove, throttle. He wants to grab Karofsky’s head and slam it into the floor over and over until the light in his beady little eyes goes out. But he thinks of Kurt, and he’s all that matters. He turns away from Karofsky and starts toward Kurt, who lies like a ragdoll on the bed, unmoving. He barely takes two steps when Karofsky grips his shoulders and throws him against the wall. Adrenalin flowing, he ducks when Karofsky throws a punch and kicks out a foot, catching him in the stomach. Blaine is small, but he’s quick and fast, and months spent hunting and scouting with just Puck have strengthened his ropey muscles. He darts around Karofsky and is ready to swing his fist when he catches sight of Kurt again and falters.

It’s the opening Karofsky needs, and he soon finds himself on the floor, Karofsky’s heavy bulk holding him down. His eyes widen in panic as Karofsky’s hands slide around his throat.

“I can’t decide if I should just kill you now or kick your ass so you’re still alive to watch me fuck him and then go upstairs and bash Puckerman’s brains in. Probably easier just to kill you now,” Karofsky pants, and his hands begin to squeeze.

Blaine brings his arms up to claw at his opponent’s face in a desperation, but he’s already going cross-eyed.

Suddenly Karofsky’s weight is gone and once he takes a couple gulps of air, Blaine scrambles up to see Puck and Karofsky wrestling on the floor. Puck flips Karofsky onto his back and pins his arms down, so Blaine rushes to Kurt. He turns Kurt over from his prone position, muttering his name over and over. Kurt limbs are limp; his eyes are closed and his face is blank. Blaine gathers him into his arms and is about to just pick him up and carry him away when Kurt’s whole body stiffens.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
Kurt is in a meadow of…it takes a moment for him to figure it out, because he’s never seen them in real life, only in an old picture book he used to look at with his mom, but it’s a meadow of bluebells. His stubby little fingers fumble a little as he weaves a couple of the flowers together.

His best friend Mercedes is sitting beside him; they’re making crowns of flowers. She grins at him, flashing the braces she likes to call “bling” on her teeth. Her dad is a dentist, so she’s the only kid he’s ever seen with the strange metal wires in her mouth.

He smiles back at her and ducks his head so she can place her circlet of bluebells over his neatly parted hair.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The sickening crunch of breaking bones and screams of pain punctuated with the gurgling of blood wrench Kurt away from the meadow and from Mercedes.

He’s cold, naked, vulnerable. Someone’s arms are around him, so he tenses and then tries to struggle away.

“Kurt, Kurt! It’s me; it’s Blaine.” Blaine’s voice is panicky and has lost that velvety smooth quality it usually has when he speaks to Kurt.

Kurt shoves away from him and presses his back against the wall. His eyes are wide and wild with alarm and confusion over the situation. He can hear the continuous thud of fist on flesh, but there are no more screams. He can’t bear to look. Everything seems heightened: the sounds of someone striking someone else, the scent of blood in the air, the unyielding wall against his back and the soft material of the mattress against his ass and legs.

Blaine is stretching shaking hands towards him cautiously, like one might approach a frightened animal. Which, Kurt supposes, is exactly what he is. “I’m not going to hurt you. Will you come with me? I want to take you away from this.”

Kurt stares at Blaine and then jerks his head in the affirmative. He takes a couple deep breaths to quell his too-fast breathing and stuttering heart. Blaine slips an arm around his waist and proceeds to half-carry, half-drag him across the floor.

Kurt makes the mistake of looking at what else is happening in the room. He sees the blood and the lifeless body and the fists flying and his eyes roll to the back of his head.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character death (implied)

Puck’s body is shuddering with suppressed sobs. Tears stream down his cheeks. They fall from his chin and drip down, mixing with the blood on the mess that used to be Karofsky’s face. Puck raises his fist to swing it down again, but stops, suddenly exhausted. He slumps back from his kneeling position so that he’s sitting on Karofsky’s stomach and wipes at his tears with bruised and cut knuckles, unknowingly leaving a streak of red across his cheek.

“I hate you,” he whispers brokenly at the mangled face. He repeats the words over and over, fisting his torn up hands in the material of the sicko's shirt, and it turns into a steady chant, becoming more incensed and biting with each utterance until he wrenches himself up and kicks at Karofsky’s body, shoving him away.

He leaves the room – _Kurt’s_ room – and finds it easier to breathe once the scent of blood and flesh and sweat and _sex_ diffuses. He makes his way to the kitchen and ferrets out a bottle of whiskey he has hidden away – Blaine can’t hold his booze – and twists off the cap. He doesn’t bother pouring a shot; his hands are shaking so badly that he has trouble just holding on and lifting the bottle to his lips.

The searing trail of alcohol down his throat clears the haze of white-hot rage a bit and Puck glances down at his hands, smeared with blood – Karofsky’s and his own, and he’s pretty grossed out by that idea – and then glances up. He assumes that Blaine must have taken Kurt upstairs. Naked, violated, helpless Kurt. Puck clenches his jaw and leans so that his forehead presses against a cupboard door over the stove. He tries not to think about how little he can help with this. He really tries not to think of her.

It doesn't work. It never works. He takes another swig.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
When Kurt wakes up, he doesn’t open his eyes. He takes a deep breath and feels. He’s lying on his stomach, head turned to the right. He’s on something kind of soft but a little lumpy. He’s wearing clothes. The itchiness at his feet must mean a pair of thick wool socks, and then there’s some sweat pants that fall a little short at the ankle, and a hoodie that must be Blaine’s, because it smells like the one he gave Kurt – that clean Blaine smell, sweat mixed with the soap he washed Kurt with when he first found him. Everything is still and cool and oh so quiet that he can hear the breathing right next to him. He opens his eyes slowly, and in the early morning light, the first thing that greets him is Blaine’s sleep-slack face. His mouth is open a little and there’s a tiny crinkle between his thick brows that suggests his dreams aren’t pleasant. Kurt shifts a little to see that he is lying on Blaine’s mattress and Blaine is curled up on the floor beside him. Kurt frowns in confusion at this, but has no more time to think on the matter, because in the next second Blaine’s eyes are fluttering open. He looks at Kurt blearily for a moment, and then his eyes widen and he takes in a sharp breath.

“Kurt,” Blaine jerks as if to sit up, but then lowers himself back down to remain lying on his side, “you’re…you’re awake.”

Kurt can’t look him in the eye any longer. He doesn’t move, but he glances down and away.

“What do you remember?”

“Most of it,” Kurt replies, “…you stopped him.”

Blaine sounds strangled. “Of course I did.”

“Why?”

“Kurt? What-?”

“Why did you stop him?” Kurt asks, his voice hollow and resigned. “Now I...I don’t have a purpose anymore. Are you going to leave me here? Kill me? S-sell me?” He hates himself, hates what he did with Karofsky, but if he is sold…he could end up with someone like the group of people who had tortured and starved him.

Blaine doesn’t respond, so Kurt hazards a glance at his face.

Blaine is crying, and his mouth is opening and closing uselessly. After a minute, he collects himself. “Why…Kurt, how could you think I would do that? I would never – that isn’t your purpose; I told you I didn’t expect that from you-"

“I know,” Kurt barely registers the brazenness of his interruption, because now he has to turn over; he can’t face Blaine, “I know you don’t want me. I’m…dirty.”

“No! Is that what he told you? Kurt…please look at me.” Blaine waits silently as Kurt squeezes his eyes shut and rolls over again to face him. Blaine’s eyes are wide and earnest and full of agony. “You are not dirty. That’s not…that’s not what it’s about. What he did, what they all did – God, it’s wrong and sick, but not because of you. It’s not your purpose. It’s not about wanting you or not wanting you…what he did…it’s nothing like what people do when they care about each other and want to show that with their bodies. I could never…”

Blaine is looking away in anguish and anger, and Kurt grapples with a dawning realization that has his face crumpling and his eyes smarting with tears. “You didn’t know…I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew,” he whispers.

“No, God, I didn’t know; if I had known – Kurt, I am so sorry,” Blaine reaches his hand forward but then pulls it to his chest, “I told you I would take care of you and help you get better and I just failed completely. I should have known. I should have figured it out when you started acting different. I should have known the minute I first laid eyes on him what kind of monster he was.”

Blaine’s apology is lost on deaf ears, because Kurt is shaking and trying to blink back his tears. “I didn’t have to. I…I let him touch me. I did things for him. I let him use me and I didn’t have to.” He stares up at the ceiling and wishes the floor would melt and swallow him whole. A finger catches a tear that has escaped and is rolling down the side of his face, and he starts a little at the contact.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine whispers, “Just – tell me if you’re scared or uncomfortable and I won’t touch you. I promise.”

Kurt turns his head to look at him. Blaine’s long eyelashes are clinging together, wet with tears of his own. He can’t resist. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve to touch him, but Kurt reaches out a trembling hand and finds Blaine’s. He relaxes just a little at the slide of the calloused fingers in between his.

“One day you’ll understand,” Blaine vows fervently, “You didn’t let him do anything. He took advantage of you – he hurt you. They all did. They were all wrong, so wrong, but one day you’ll understand that nothing they did makes you wrong or, or dirty.”

Kurt wants to believe him, of course. Wants to know that in Blaine’s eyes, he’s still good. And that maybe one day he can think the same of himself. He wants to believe that what Karofsky and all the others made him do isn’t his purpose, and that one day he might choose to touch someone and be touched because he wants it, and not because he has to. He wants to believe there is a difference. But the thought of sorting it all out is exhausting.

“I’m so tired,” he confesses, swallowing hard, and meets Blaine’s now tender gaze.

“I know you are,” Blaine tells him softly. He shuffles a little closer and lifts his free hand to card through Kurt’s hair, gently pushing his bangs back from his forehead. “You can sleep more. I’ll stay right here until you fall asleep.”

And he does. The last thing that registers as Kurt fades away, escapes for a little while, is the brush of Blaine’s fingertips against his skin.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

After Kurt dozes off, Blaine gets up and leaves the room, shutting the door quietly. He meets Puck in the hall.

“You alright?” Blaine asks. Puck looks, Blaine is sure, about the same as Blaine does: like hell. There are dark circles under his eyes and he has an aura of tension all around him. He has blood on his face and dried tear tracks running through it. Puck shrugs in reply, looking away.

“Is he…alive?” Puck shrugs again, whether to confirm or deny, Blaine doesn’t know. He wonders if Puck does. “Right.”

Puck clears his throat. “How’s Kurt?” His voice is raspy from crying, and a little slurred. He can smell whiskey on Puck’s breath, but he chooses not to comment.

“He’s…sleeping,” Blaine grimaces at his non-answer as Puck nods. “He’ll…one day, things will be better.”

Puck glances at Blaine’s door and then away. “We can’t stay here anymore. I can’t stay here. *He* can’t stay here. We’ve gotta leave.”

“I know,” Blaine says quietly, hoping to quell Puck’s rising voice, “Get some sleep. I’ll get our stuff together and we’ll leave mid-afternoon.”  
Puck nods again and his shoulders slump a little as he makes his way down the hall to his own room.

“Puck?” Blaine pauses as Puck turns to face him again. “Thanks for what you did…back there. You saved my life. You saved Kurt. It was a good thing, what you did.”

Puck jerks his head before heading back down the hall, and the meaning of the movement is lost on Blaine once again. He calls after him once more, and Puck pauses but does not turn around.

“If we leave today, he’ll be dead for sure.”

Finally Puck turns to look at Blaine, and he fixes him with an empty stare.

  
Yeah. Blaine finds that he doesn’t care, either.


	9. Chapter 9

The first few days of their travels are quiet ones. No one really knows what to say. Blaine figures Kurt will start talking when he’s ready, and he’s glad that Puck isn’t pushing anything. They have two two-man tents, and agree that Blaine and Puck will share one, and Kurt will have the other to himself. It takes a while, but Kurt slowly starts to make progress. He starts meeting Puck’s eyes and even offering Blaine little half-smiles, and Blaine is relieved that he appears to have retained a healthy appetite.

On the fifth night on the road, Puck announces that he’s going to teach Kurt to play poker, and Blaine needs to get off his ass and join them. After that, Kurt starts talking again. A couple days later, Blaine is cooking some beans when he hears Kurt’s tentatively harmonizing with his own. He looks over at Kurt and grins, receiving a smile in return. They both turn to stare when Puck suddenly adds his voice, and he rolls his eyes at them but doesn’t stop. It’s a little strange, but it’s something close to happy.

After a couple of weeks spent in an old shack, they find themselves travelling again, after Puck spots a large party of very likely unfriendly roadsters headed their way mid afternoon. It’s getting really cold now, and Blaine worries that Kurt won’t be warm enough at night when they have to sleep in the tents. He’s still so thin; Blaine can count his ribs and his shoulder blades are far too pronounced. He gives Kurt extra pieces of his clothes to bundle up in and always makes sure to set up his tent close to the fire.

It’s about a month later, and they’re walking, hoping to spot some sort of building to stay in, when Blaine realizes that he sometimes watches Kurt for reasons that go beyond caring about his well-being. Kurt has started to gain some weight, and Blaine can’t help but notice, as Kurt’s color improves and his face becomes less gaunt, how stunning he is. And he can’t seem to limit himself to just that, finding his eyes lingering over Kurt’s shoulders and chest, which are starting to fill out now that he is getting proper nourishment, and then trailing down to sweep over his slender waist and narrow hips. He’ll catch himself doing this and then look away guiltily, cringing at how Kurt would react if he could read his thoughts and hoping his two companions won’t notice the blush that surely stains his warm cheeks.

Every time this happens, he repeats in his head: “Kurt is your friend. You need to look out for him. You are taking care of your friend. Don’t forget that.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

They’re sitting by the fire one night, and Blaine has caught himself noting how good Kurt looks by the glow of the flames and is in the process of mentally chastising himself when Kurt brings something up. Later, Blaine figures it was his traitorous thoughts of late that had him reacting to Kurt’s words so strongly.

“I need something to do,” Kurt says, and Blaine and Puck look at him in confusion. Kurt keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the orange and yellow flames curling around a piece of birch wood. “I can’t sit around every day and do nothing. It’s not fair. Everyone has to do something to contribute. I need to earn my keep.”

Blaine notices that Kurt is gripping his hands tightly in his lap. “Kurt, no, you don’t have to do anything, okay? We can look after you and you don’t need to do something to earn it,” he rushes to assure him, frowning first in concern and then confusion as Kurt’s shoulders slump at his declaration and he looks to the ground.

“No, he’s right,” Puck says and Blaine whips his head to glare at him in surprise and anger, “he’s gotta start making a contribution.”

“Puck!” Blaine admonishes him, and he turns worried eyes to Kurt once more, only to find Kurt looking up and sending Puck a small smile.

“What--?”

“Everybody has a purpose,” Puck continues, spitting some dip into the fire, “I’m sure we can find something Kurt’s good at.”

Kurt’s cheeks are pink and his smile has widened, though his eyes are once again fixed on the fire, and his hands clutch at his knees.

“Right,” Blaine manages to strangle out, wanting to slap himself now that he has figured out what this conversation is about, “Right, I agree. Kurt, I’ll bet there are a lot of things you’re great at, a lot of skills that can help out.”

He’s relieved when Kurt’s hands relax and he nods his head. Then Kurt glances at him and the burgeoning confidence in his striking eyes takes Blaine’s breath away.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
Blaine lingers outside a little as Puck and Kurt retreat to their tents. He hesitates outside of Kurt’s tent and stares at the fire as he collects his thoughts.

“Kurt?” He calls out softly.

He hears some rustling as Kurt shifts on his mattress.

“Yes?” Is Kurt’s quiet reply.

“Is it alright if we talk for a minute?”

“Sure.”

Blaine takes a deep breath and unzips the tent flap. He sinks to his knees as he pulls the flap back but only sticks his head inside.

“Hey,” he says with a gentle smile when he sees Kurt, who has several pairs of pants and shirts covering him like blankets, but is sitting up to look at him.

“Hi,” Kurt replies, looking curious.

“Kurt, I’m so sorry,” Blaine says in a rush, keeping his eyes on Kurt determinedly.

Kurt tilts his head to the side and furrows his brow inquisitively.

“I just…I’ve been so focused on wanting to help you heal and recover, and while I’ve always thought you were strong, I guess I didn’t consider what that really meant. I didn’t think about how you might want to show that strength and, I don’t know…get some control back.”

Kurt’s cheeks are pink again, and Blaine can’t help but find the sight lovely. Kurt’s eyelashes flutter a little. “Well, I wanted you guys to know that I can help out. I can contribute something valuable,” he hedges, “…I think *I* want to know that. I want to prove it to myself.”

“I know you can,” Blaine assures him, “We’ll figure it out together.” They smile at each other shyly for a minute. “Alright,” Blaine says reluctantly, “let’s go to sleep. We’ll need all our rest if we’re going to spend the day investigating what you can do to help.”

“Alright,” Kurt says, and his eyes flicker as he bites down on his bottom lip and Blaine almost chokes. “Good night, Blaine.” Kurt lies back down and shuts his eyes.

“Good night.” With a final glance at Kurt’s face, he ducks out and lets the tent flap drop into place, but then pauses when he hears Kurt’s voice again.

“Blaine?”

He pulls back the flap to look at Kurt, who is sitting up on his elbows. “Yeah?”

“Would you – you don’t have to, obviously, I just…c-could you…” Kurt’s eyes are shifting everywhere until he finally lifts them to meet Blaine’s and takes a deep breath. “Would you hold me?”

Blaine immediately tries to squash down the traitorous part of him that cheers inwardly at the prospect of pressing up close to an attractive man. As he struggles to find words in reply to this encouraging request, he repeats his recently discovered motto in his head: *Kurt is your friend. You are taking care of your friend.*

Kurt is looking down again, frowning, cheeks flushed and arms crossed protectively over his chest. “It would just be that, and like I said, I understand if you don’t…don’t want to. I-I just…it’s been a long time since anyone’s held me without hurting me. I don’t think I really remember what it’s like.” Kurt’s lifting his eyes shyly once more to look up at Blaine from beneath his lashes, and the doubt and vulnerability he sees there has him starting out of his silence.

“No, of course, Kurt. Yeah, I’ll…if you’re sure? Are you going to be okay?”

Kurt nods once, hands now twisting in his lap. “I think so.” He raises an eyebrow and offers Blaine a weak smile. “I could use the extra body heat. And I’m sure Puck can handle one night without cuddles.”

“Okay.” Blaine is too nervous to laugh at Kurt’s attempt to ease the tension. He lets out a long breath and crawls inside. Kurt is watching him with wide, cautious eyes. He knows Kurt isn’t afraid of him, but he’d hazard a guess that they’re both wondering how he’ll react to this kind of closeness. He shuffles forward until he can lie down next to Kurt, and they simply look at each other for a long moment.

 

Kurt doesn’t know what to do. Where should he look? What should he do with his arms? How can he stop the trembling of his hands that started the minute he had finally managed to spit out his request? He can feel the heat from Blaine’s body as he draws closer. They’re both lying on their sides, facing each other, and Blaine is watching Kurt closely as he takes his top arm and drapes it around Kurt’s waist, curving his arm up so that he can press the palm of his broad, long-fingered hand flat between Kurt’s shoulder blades. He moves his body even closer, until their foreheads are brushing and their thighs are pressed together. Blaine wriggles his bottom arm under Kurt’s head, and his hand finds its way to the top of Kurt’s head, fingers gently combing through his hair.

Kurt can’t bring his eyes to Blaine’s, not out of shame or fear, but because he can’t be expected to actually look into those eyes and not lose control of himself completely. He doesn’t have to look up to know that Blaine can feel the shaking, which has spread from his hands to his entire body. His breathing shallows and he squeezes his eyes shut tight as his hands fist into the material of Blaine’s shirt front.  
Blaine’s hand stills. “Kurt?”

Kurt knows that Blaine’s arms are around him, that he’s safe. That the body pressed against his is there only to offer warmth and comfort, and that nothing else is expected of him in this moment. He knows these things, but he can’t stop the barrage of memories, can’t stop the quaking of his body. He can feel Blaine pulling away, so he works open his clenched jaw to stutter out something in protest.

“I’m sorry. I-I…it’s okay. I’m just kind of…” he has to pause to stop his voice from breaking, so he swallows the lump in his throat and tries again. “It’s a little scary, but I’ll be alright,” he tells himself as much as Blaine. “Please don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Blaine soothes, his voice deepening just a little and sounding rougher than usual, and Kurt’s shuddering from something else in addition to his nerves. Blaine tightens his embrace again and Kurt feels his shaking start to subside. He breathes in Blaine’s smell and tries to stop the tears smarting at his eyes, but they’re falling anyway and he blushes when he realizes that Blaine can probably feel the wetness seeping through his shirt.

“I’m sorry I’m such a wreck,” he mutters, even as he finds the courage to burrow his face into the curve where Blaine’s neck meets his shoulder. Blaine tells him he has nothing to be sorry for, and soon he feels ready to release his death grip on Blaine’s shirt. He slowly slides his arms around Blaine’s torso and tentatively rests his hands on his back and moves a little closer. He has to hold his breath when he gets close enough that their chests are touching, but Blaine’s warm and firm and *there* and he’s holding Kurt like he’s precious and invaluable, so Kurt lets out a shaky sigh and feels the tension in his body start to drain, and with it, ever so slowly, goes the trembling, until he’s slack and loose-limbed against Blaine, and he can feel Blaine’s cheek nuzzle the top of his head.

“Will you sing? Anything.”

Blaine is silent for a minute but then starts to sing quietly. “ _Pour myself a cup of coffee full of sober nights…_ ”

Kurt can feel Blaine’s warm breath on the tip of his cold ear. The song is low and throaty. Tingles run up and down Kurt’s spine and he doesn’t know what to do with them, but Blaine’s hand is like an anchor, keeping him steady and safe in the face of a tumult of conflicting feelings.

“ _…I don’t wanna play any theatre for you, I don’t wanna stage a single piece for you…_ ”

He falls asleep surrounded by Blaine, pressed tight to him. His last conscious thought is what a miracle it is.

“ _You, you keep me warm._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Blaine sings is "Keep Me Warm" by Ida Maria


	10. Chapter 10

Blaine lets out a contented sigh as he slowly drifts from sleep to wakefulness.  He keeps his eyes shut and tightens his hold around the warm, slender body he’s pressed up against as he nuzzles his nose into soft hair and breathes in a clean, sweet scent.

“B-Blaine?”

His eyes fly open.  Kurt.  And – oh, shit.

“Oh shit,” he mutters as he realizes that Kurt is frozen and tense in his arms, and – SHIT – he’s hard, and his pelvis is pressed against Kurt’s backside.  “Kurt, no, it’s okay, I didn’t – I’m so sorry,” he tries to keep his babbling under control so he doesn’t alarm Kurt any more than he already is and slowly moves away.  He slides his hips backwards first and then gradually pulls his arms from around Kurt’s torso.

“That’s-“ Kurt sounds strangled, like there is something caught in his throat.  Blaine can see Kurt’s arms moving to cover up his head, an old habit that had seemed to be fading away.

“No, Kurt!  I…it doesn’t mean anything.  Please, believe me.  It’s just…something that happens, you know?  I don’t want – it has nothing to do with you, I promise, okay?  I mean,” Blaine takes a deep breath to calm down and shoves himself as far to the side of the tent as he can manage, even as he watches Kurt curl up into a little ball, shaking.  The sight quickly makes his problem go away.  “Sometimes that just happens in the morning, and you don’t have to – I’d never expect you to do anything about it, okay?  God, I know you must be so scared…Fuck, I’m such an idiot; I should have thought of this before.  Just please, please don’t…don’t go away to wherever it is you go.  You’re safe here; I never want you to feel like you’re not safe with me…” He trails off when he hears the sound of Kurt’s quiet sobs, which both break his heart and reassure him, because Kurt is always silent and unresponsive when he retreats into his mind, so Blaine can hope that he’s still aware.

“Kurt?” Blaine blinks away his own tears and focuses on Kurt’s trembling form.  He hesitates for a moment, but then reaches out and places his hand gently on Kurt’s upper back.  Kurt’s breath hitches but he doesn’t pull away; in fact, it almost seems like he curves his back a little into the touch.  He waits, resisting the impulse to rub Kurt’s back comfortingly, as he doesn’t want to startle or scare him.

Eventually, Kurt’s crying subsides.  Blaine just lies on the ground (he has slid off the mattress and only the tarp of the tent separates him from the cold dirt below), his arm extended and his hand resting against Kurt’s quivering back.  He’s had to wipe away tears of his own a couple times, determined to stay strong for Kurt.

He starts and quickly withdraws his hand when Kurt slowly rolls over to face him.  His chest aches at the sight of tear tracks running down his face, and the watery and wary, but (thank God) alert eyes fixed on his face.

Kurt opens his mouth but only a distressed breath comes out.

“Hey,” Blaine says, mustering a smile, “you’re still with me.”

Kurt looks away and his cheeks redden.  Blaine sees another tear roll down his cheek.  “I’m sorry,” Kurt whispers shakily.

“No, Kurt, please don’t apologize.”  Blaine feels helpless, and he hates the feeling, because all he wants to do is help.  All he wants to do is wipe the tears from Kurt’s eyes and the fear and misery from his face.  “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything; his mouth is pressed into a thin line, as though he’s trying to keep everything in, but can’t prevent another tear from escaping.

“Kurt…you know, you know I’d never expect anything from you like that, right?  My body was – was just reacting, but it’s my own responsibility to deal with that and I’d never ask you to…” he chokes on his own words, trying to find a way to phrase it so that Kurt won’t freak out any more than he already has.

“I know,” Kurt says.  He sounds pained, and he lifts up his hands and presses them against his eyes, as if to block everything out.  “I know; it’s just…whenever th-there’s… _that_ ,” the way Kurt spits out the last word makes it very apparent what he’s talking about, in the only way he can manage, “it has always meant – “ Kurt has to take a couple breaths to calm himself, “A…and I was just reminded of…things,” he ends on a whisper, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Kurt, I’m so sorry,” Blaine murmurs again, reaching out a tentative hand to skim his fingers over the back of Kurt’s hand lightly.  When Kurt doesn’t flinch, he takes it as a sign of encouragement.  “Can I…hold you again?  There isn’t any, um, issue anymore.”

When Kurt nods minutely, Blaine’s heart leaps and he shuffles back onto the mattress slowly.  Kurt is still hiding his eyes behind his hands, so he runs a hand up Kurt’s arm to let him know he’s there before embracing him, folding him into his arms gently and rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles, just like his sister used to do when he was sick.

After a minute, Kurt lets out a long sigh and moves his hands from his face, curling one tentatively around Blaine’s bicep and tucking the other into his own chest.  He stares resolutely at Blaine’s chest.  “I’m just so tired,” he says, and his voice is indeed weary, roughened from sleep and crying and Blaine really shouldn’t find it so appealing, especially not right now, “I’m sick of being so weak and needy and dependent.  All I do is rely on you…”

“You are not weak,” Blaine tells him firmly, latching on to something that he thinks could help, “You have no idea how strong you are, how brave.  Last night…and especially now, letting me hold you like this?  Trusting me, being so open and brave?  You’re amazing.  You’ve survived so much, and you’re still so full of determination and courage.  It’s not weak to need people sometimes, Kurt.  You don’t have to deal with this all on your own.  Sometimes, it’s okay to let someone take care of you; sometimes, it takes real strength to let that happen.  And you’re showing it right now.”

He sees the corners of Kurt’s mouth quirk up as Kurt shifts his eyes to meet Blaine’s.  He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how beautiful they are, especially now that they’ve got a tiny spark of hope in them, even as they shimmer with some unshed tears.

“Besides,” Blaine teases, leaning forward to bump his forehead against Kurt’s for a second, “weren’t we just talking yesterday about finding out what you can do to make a contribution?  Weren’t we going to spend today discovering all the amazing things you can do to help out?”

When Kurt huffs and looks down again, he hastily adds, “We don’t have to, of course.  We can wait until tomorrow.  It’s already been an overwhelming morning, so if you’d rather-“

“Blaine,” Kurt interrupts sweetly, rolling his eyes a little, and Blaine’s breath catches at the sudden confidence with which his own name leaves Kurt’s lips, “you can’t talk about how strong I supposedly am and then treat me like I’ll break at any second.”

Blaine groans and buries his faces against his own arm.  “I’m sorry.  I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Stop apologizing,” Kurt replies, and Blaine looks up in surprise at the teasing tone in his voice as Kurt suddenly pulls away from him.  “Come on,” Kurt says brightly as he stands up and offers a hand to Blaine, “less talking and more action.  We said we’d spend today figuring out where my skills lie, so that’s what we should do.”  Blaine hears him falter a little at the end, and can see the strain in the smile on his face, but he knows that this is what Kurt needs right now, so he doesn’t comment.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Kurt finds that, despite how exhausted he is by the end of the day, he enjoys this new way of spending his time with Blaine.  By the time they emerge from Kurt’s tent, Puck is gone for the day scouting and hunting and doesn’t return until after Kurt has gone to sleep.

Usually, they spend their days with Blaine doing inventory, making repairs on things around their campsite, washing, and cooking.  And Kurt will typically sit and watch him.  They talk, they sing, but Kurt has far too many opportunities to watch Blaine, to rake his eyes over his broad shoulders, the muscles in his arms when he’s wearing a tight shirt, the flatness of his stomach and his slim hips.  Too much time entirely to trace the angle of Blaine’s jaw line with his eyes, to stare at his long, dark eyelashes, to catch himself gazing at Blaine’s lips, pursed in a frown, curving over the words in a song, stretched into a dazzling smile.  His stomach fills with weird feelings and he doesn’t know what to make of it, but he knows that his cheeks redden whenever he glances away and pretends to be preoccupied with the threads of his own clothes so that Blaine won’t notice his awkward staring. 

So today is a nice relief from his bad new habit; he can concentrate on the tasks Blaine gives him to try out, and he and Blaine can talk about and laugh over them, like when their joint efforts at building a fire take forever to produce something, because the wind keeps blowing the tiny flames out.

They discover that Kurt is quite good with a needle and thread, so it is decided he’ll be in charge of making repairs on the clothes and tarps and tents, and Blaine is oddly excited that they’ll have Kurt on hand if anyone ever needs proper stitches.

“I mean, I hope no one _does_ ,” Blaine explains with a sheepish grin, “but it’s good to know we’ve got someone who will be able to patch people up decently if they need it.  Puck’s way too clumsy and I have this… _thing_ about needles…”

Kurt shyly asks if he can make lunch for the two of them, and Blaine is impressed with what he’s able to produce with some thin soup, some wild mushrooms Blaine finds, and a piece of leftover rabbit that needs to be eaten before it goes bad, so Blaine declares Kurt the new cook, gleeful at the idea of no longer eating Puck’s burnt meals.  Kurt blushes at the praise, but has to admit to himself that his meal does taste rather good.

They also decide that for the time being, until Kurt gains a little more weight and a little more strength, he’ll take over Blaine’s inventory duties, freeing up Blaine to do more scouting and hunting.  “I’ll never go as far as Puck does,” Blaine promises, “I’ll always been within shouting distance.”

So Kurt retreats to his tent that night, bundled up in layers of clothes against the cold, feeling satisfied that there are things he can do; he’s good for…more than one thing, and that knowledge rolls around in his brain cheerfully, lulling him into a contented sleep.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Puck has been worried all day.  He knows his scouting was shit, and all he had to show for hunting as a couple of grouse.  He had scared off a mule deer because his thoughts were so preoccupied, and he had actually fallen out of a tree because he just wasn’t paying attention.

He had woken up and had a mini-freak out when Blaine wasn’t in the tent with him and he wasn’t outside cooking breakfast or doing inventory.  He had started to enter full-on panic mode, when he heard two voices coming from the other tent – Kurt’s tent, and when he walked silently over to it and listened closer, he could make out Blaine and Kurt’s hushed voices.

He hadn’t known what to think, so he took off for scouting before either of them came out.  And all day long his thought had been plagued with questions and assumptions and dismissals and nagging doubts.  Why was Blaine in Kurt’s tent?  Had he done this before?  Was Kurt okay? 

He had let the concerns and dread build all day, so by the time he returns to camp, well after the sun had set and Kurt has apparently already turned in, his suspicions and the anger they produced are bubbling just under the surface.

“Puck,” Blaine says, greeting him with a smile, “bout time you got back!  Are you hungry?  Kurt made-“

“Why the fuck were you in Kurt’s tent last night?” Puck cut him off, grinding his teeth together.

Blaine looks at him, startled, from where he is adding another piece of wood to the fire.  “I-“

“Are you…” Puck hesitates, because Blaine is his friend.  Blaine isn’t like that, right?  He wouldn’t do that.  But as much as Puck wants to believe that, he can’t let the doubt stay in his mind.  “You’re not…doing stuff to him, are you?  Because I swear to God if you’re taking advantage of him, Anderson-“

“No!” Blaine looks affronted.  “No, I would never do that.  Puck, you know me. I could never.”

The righteous look of indignation that changes to disgust and then hurt that flashes across Blaine’s face has Puck’s temper fading.  “Right.  Yeah.  Sorry man, it’s just…I don’t know; I’m kinda protective of the kid.  I just…”

“I understand,” Blaine says, looking at him with those big eyes he sometimes gets, full of knowing and feeling, too much feeling, so Puck ducks his head and scratches at his hair, which is growing too long.

“So…I mean, why _were_ you with him last night?”

“He asked me to stay with him,” Blaine says, and his eyes take on a faraway look, “it was such an important moment for him, I think.  To trust someone like that.  He’s so strong, so brave.”

Puck eyeballs Blaine, whose own eyes are suddenly shining in the firelight.  “You like him.”

“Wh-what?”

“Yeah.  You totally do.  You want to jump Kurt.”

“Puck!  I just told you, I’d never-“

“I don’t mean like that.  I mean in a good way…a…”  Puck feels really weird about saying it, especially since he wasn’t thought of sex in those terms for a long, long time, because there’s only one person who had ever made him think of it that way, “a…‘making love’ type deal.  You like him; you want him.  I’ve seen you checking him out.  Don’t deny it,” he adds with a roll of his eyes as Blaine opens his mouth to protest, “you’re bright red right now.  I’m a sex shark.  I can tell these things.”

Blaine ducks his head now.  “I…okay, fine.  I can’t help it.  I don’t mean to, and I’m never going to act on it.”  Blaine looks at him with those warm, earnest eyes, and Puck swears if he wasn’t a badass he’d melt into a puddle of goo at the depth of feeling they express.  “I really, really care about him.  I don’t wanna hurt him, ever.  So…it’s just off the table, and I’ll deal with my feelings by myself.”

Puck looks over to Kurt’s tent.  “And what if one day he does want you to do something about it?”

Blaine looks pained.  “I don’t think that’ll ever be the case, and if it is…I don’t know.  I don’t know.  I never want to do anything to cause him pain,” he says softly.

Puck nods and sighs.  “You know, you keep saying Kurt is strong.  Maybe if that time ever comes, you’ll believe it enough to not be too chicken shit to try something that could make both of you happy.  You know, metaphorically speaking.”

“Hypothetically,” Blaine corrects him, even as he stares at him with a stunned expression.

Puck stretches his arms and yawns.  “Whatever, dude.”

He ducks into their tent, leaving Blaine staring at the flames of the fire, lost in thought.


	11. Chapter 11

Another week goes by and it’s simply getting too cold to sleep in tents any longer.  It’s too dangerous to leave the fire burning all night long (it gives away their location when they’re most vulnerable), and Kurt has had mild frostbite on his face and toes and fingers for the past couple nights.  Puck suggests sleeping three to a tent, but Kurt blanches at the idea and excuses himself for a walk.  Blaine has to talk down an injured Puck, who feels insulted that Kurt doesn’t trust him quite as he trusts Blaine.

 

“I don’t think that’s really it, not at this point.  I think maybe…maybe there’s something about that scenario that would be too upsetting for him, you know?”

 

So their only solution is to find a decent place to hole up in for the remaining cold months, no more tents or shacks or houses with thin walls and broken windows.  Such a high standard of place is difficult to find these days, but Puck mentions that he remembers a little town not too far off from the forest they’re in (he thinks), so they set out West early one morning, Puck and Blaine trading off on pushing the wheelbarrow, and all three making plenty of stops (mostly so Kurt can rest).

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The sun is setting when they arrive in the little town.  It’s not much of a town: just what appears to be three bungalow-style houses, an old gas station, and a restaurant.  They look at the houses first, but they all appear to be rundown, with broken windows and crumbling exteriors.  One just looks too dangerous to enter.  The gas station is just a pump and a little convenience store, but the restaurant is an old log cabin style building, and looks sturdy enough.  The windows are small and high up and thankfully intact.

 

The restaurant seems like their best option, and indeed, upon entering, the air even seems warmer.  Kurt and Puck cheer quietly at the spices and canned goods they find in the kitchen, and Blaine smiles at the dusty old-fashioned wind-up record player in the dining area, hoping it still works. 

 

It’s really quite the find.  The building is in good shape, the water doesn’t work but there’s an old well out back, there’s new food, some chef’s uniforms for new clothes, knives, more first aid supplies (though it looks as though someone has rifled through them), and oddly enough, a pair of binoculars sitting on the counter in the kitchen.  Kurt is eager to try out the jukebox, but Blaine and Puck gently chide him; there’s still the basement to inspect before they should make much noise.

 

“Hopefully there’s more food down there, and more records, too,” Blaine whispers to console him.  They share a smile as they descend the stairs, and Blaine tries not to notice when their hands brush against each other. 

 

Blaine is just walking past a corner when a voice shrieks out, “S-stop right there!”

 

He freezes, and senses Puck and Kurt do the same behind him.  He can hear loud, shaky breathing from the same direction as the voice, so he turns towards it, and sees Kurt and Puck doing the same slowly out of the corner of his eye.

 

Blaine is caught off guard at the surprising sight in front of him for a moment: three women, huddled in the corner of the room on the ground, about five feet away.  There’s a pretty blonde with what appears to be a dislocated shoulder who is staring at him with a kind of vacant expression, which is odd, considering the circumstances, a darker-skinned woman with black hair who has her arms wrapped protectively around the blonde and a truly nasty cut on the inside of her right thigh who is glaring at him with an intensity he has frankly never encountered before.  But most important by far is the final woman, a petite brunette with tears streaming down her face and her arms raised, trembling hands pointing a gun at his group, darting back and forth between himself, Puck, and Kurt. 

 

“Okay,” Blaine says, raising his hands not in surrender, but as though to calm a scared animal, “okay…”

 

“Don’t c-come any closer!” The woman calls out shrilly as he lifts his foot, and trains the gun squarely on him.

 

“Do you even know how to use that?” Puck sounds vaguely annoyed and Blaine wants to smack him, “the safety’s still on.”

 

The brunette hesitates, her eyes darting down to the gun, and quickly takes the safety off.

 

“Very helpful, Puck,” Blaine mutters.

 

“Put down your weapons – no! Throw them in that corner!” The brunette commands, her voice a little stronger now, though her face is still a complete giveaway as to how terrified she is.

 

Puck sighs and tosses his hunting knife in the corner, and Kurt and Blaine follow suit with a kitchen knife and switchblade, respectively.

 

“You idiot,” the darker-skinned woman hisses, “you should have told them to kick them over here!”

 

“Hey, hey,” Blaine tries to diffuse the situation, speaking in a gentle, smooth voice, “we don’t want any trouble, alright?  Now why don’t we just go back-“

 

The woman trains the gun on him and cocks the trigger when he lifts his foot in retreat.  She’s clearly on edge and ready to fire at the slightest thing.  “I-I have the gun in this situation!  I’m the one calling the shots!” It’s a noble effort, but the bravado in her voice can’t cover up how unsure she is.

 

Blaine sense movement to his right and the woman obviously notices, because she swings the gun to point it at the person slowly stepping towards her.  Kurt.

 

“Kurt, what are you doing?” Blaine murmurs anxiously at the same time that the woman shrieks at him again not to come any closer.  Kurt ignores her order.

 

“Dude!” Blaine hears Puck whisper urgently.

 

Blaine’s heart is in his throat as he watches Kurt take a full step closer to the women.

 

“I know you’re scared,” he says softly, making the woman jump at the sound of his voice and Blaine feels like he might have a heart attack.  The woman is staring up at him in frustration and fear and suspicion, pointing the gun right at his heart.  The darker woman seems to want to glare at everyone, but keeps her narrowed eyes trained on Puck and Blaine.  The blonde’s eyes flicker back and forth between the gun and Kurt as she chews on a nail, and she appears to be paying rapt attention.  “I was scared, too.  When they found me.  I was hurt and starving.  I was dying, actually.  And I thought the worst, too,” Kurt continues on with that same soft, gentle voice, and everyone is staring at him now, as he moves ever  closer, but oh so slowly, to the crying woman with a gun aimed at his heart.  Her eyes are big and wide and focused so completely on him that there might as well be nobody in the room but the two of them, and her mouth has fallen open a little.  “And I didn’t have a gun to protect me.  I didn’t have anything.  But they didn’t hurt me.  They took care of me, gave me food and clothes, and…they saved me.”  He’s standing right in front of her now, and crouches down a little, slowly but surely bringing his hand up to rest over one of hers.  Blaine’s hands are shaking and he can’t seem to draw a breath.  “I know you’re scared, but you can trust me,” Kurt finishes softly, mimicking words Blaine once told him.

 

There’s a long pause, almost as if time suspends itself, and then the woman’s shaking hands go lax and Kurt gently takes the gun from her and stands up.  Blaine lets out a deep breath as Kurt takes a step away.

 

“You’re so fucking stupid!” The darker woman snaps, her voice laced with fear and panic.  The brunette bursts into tears and buries her face in her hands as Kurt passes the gun off to Puck, who flips the cartridge open and rolls his eyes.

 

“There aren’t any bullets.”

 

Blaine lets out a laugh before he can stop himself; he’s just so relieved that Kurt is alright and everything’s going to be okay, but regrets it when the brunette starts to cry harder and then looks up at them, gulping for air.

 

“Pl-please just take whatever you want; please don’t hurt us, please…”

 

“Stop begging,” her angry companion commands, but Blaine can see tears forming in her eyes as well, as she pulls the blonde closer to her.  The tiny brunette is staring up at Kurt like he has broken her heart.

 

“We’re not gonna hurt you,” Puck says.

 

“We don’t want anything,” Blaine clarifies, holding his hands up again to try to calm them, “we were just trying to find a place to stay for the winter and this was our best bet.  We have supplies, too, food and medical supplies and things for hunting…”

 

He takes a step towards them and the two dark-haired women flinch, but the blonde almost leans towards him rather than away, which has her companion tugging her backwards gently.

 

“I see you have a dislocated shoulder,” he observes gently to the blonde, walking closer so that he can crouch in front of her, and then looks over at the darker woman and then down at her thigh, where her pants are torn and a deep gash runs from above her knee to her groin, “and if you’ll let us, we can stitch that up for you,” he continues, gesturing towards the wound.

 

“Don’t touch me,” she growls, shifting her leg away and hissing in pain, “and don’t you dare lay a hand on her,” she adds dangerously, tightening her hold on the blonde.

 

“It’s okay, Santana,” the blonde suddenly says in a soothing tone, running the hand of her good arm along her friend’s forearm.

 

Blaine smiles at her encouragingly.  “That’s right.  We don’t want to hurt anyone, and everything my friend said is true.  We’re just survivors like you,” he adds, turning to the darker-haired women, “but we’re decent people.”

 

Kurt moves closer again and sits down by the women.  Puck thankfully stays back, and Blaine wonders if it’s because he knows he’s the most intimidating of the three.

 

“What’s your name?” Kurt asks the brunette quietly.

 

She stares at him, wide-eyed for a moment.  “Rachel,” she manages to squeak out.

 

“I’m Brittany!” The blonde pipes up, and a sweet smile suddenly graces her features.

 

Kurt smiles back.  “I’m Kurt, and this is Blaine and that’s Puck back there.  I know he’s kind of big and his hair’s a little weird, but he means well.  Maybe one day he’ll let me fix it for him.”

 

Brittany smiles wider at the joke at Puck’s expense and Rachel’s mouth even quirks up a little, but the third woman – Santana – is still eying Kurt and Blaine suspiciously.

 

“If you don’t want anything, maybe you should just leave,” she bites out, but it mostly sounds unnerved.

 

Blaine shifts back a bit, so he isn’t so in-their-faces.  “Well, the thing is…winter’s really setting in, and we need a place to stay.  This restaurant is probably our best bet to stay safe and warm.”

 

Santana bristles, gaining confidence from Blaine’s hesitancy.  “This is _our_ place.  _Our_ stuff.  We found it.  So if you’re going to kick us out and steal our stuff just be honest so I can claw your eyes out first.”

 

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Blaine tries to reassure her.

 

“We’ve got plenty of stuff,” Puck pipes up defensively.

 

“We just need a place to stay,” Blaine adds, “we don’t want to take anything from you.”

 

“There are other buildings here,” Santana retorts, “you don’t honestly expect us to stay in the same building with three strange men and not expect them to come sniffing around when they wanna get their fuck on.”  Beside her, Rachel gasps.  Blaine can hear Puck suddenly whip around and go back up the stairs.

 

Blaine knows he should be offended, but he can’t really blame her.  And her body language is so tense; it seems as though she’s the most terrified of all three and puts on a good front.  He glances over to see how Kurt is dealing with this, and he’s still sitting by Rachel, but his head is turned away and Blaine can see the tension in his jaw.

 

“We’re not like that.  And in any case, I’m gay,” he says, smirking a little at her look of surprise.

 

“I am, too,” Kurt says, looking straight at Santana and reddening.

 

Blaine chides himself for inwardly cheering at the confirmation at a time like this.

 

Santana regards him appraisingly, her chin tilted up defiantly.  “And the other one?”

 

Blaine decides speaking plainly with this woman is the best course of action.  “Puck left because he was offended by what you said.”

 

There’s a long pause before Rachel clears her throat.

 

“I guess…I guess you can stay here.”

 

Santana whips her head around to glare at Rachel, but Rachel rolls her eyes.

 

“Oh, come on.  I think you’ve raked them over the coals enough.”  Rachel suddenly sends a beaming, if tremulous smile Kurt’s way, and Kurt looks a little caught off guard, but returns it shyly.

 

Santana purses her lips, and looks Blaine up and down.

 

“Alright, Tribrows.  What are you gonna do to get me and my girl Britts fixed up?”


	12. Chapter 12

Kurt leans against the divider between the kitchen and the dining area as Blaine gently lays Brittany out on a couple of tables they’ve pushed together.  Santana is hovering around them like a very suspicious and angry bee, and Kurt would hate to be on the receiving end of one of her stings.  Kurt thought that the nasty cut on her thigh was more of a pressing concern than Brittany’s dislocated shoulder, but Santana had insisted that Blaine look after the former’s injury first.

 

“She seems very protective of her,” Kurt comments quietly to Rachel, who is standing beside him, though about two feet away.

 

She jumps a little and looks up at him warily, her big, round eyes shining with nerves and timid hope.  Kurt cannot help but feel completely relaxed around her; she’s so tiny and seems completely out of her element.  She’s possibly the most nonthreatening person he’s ever seen, but he feels drawn to her for more than that.  There’s an undercurrent of strength in the core of her; he could see it in her eyes even as she had relinquished her gun to him.

 

“Sh-she is,” Rachel confirms, “it’s…nice to have someone care about you like that, I think.”

 

Kurt doesn’t think before he says it.  “It’s a lot like Blaine.  Which is strange; because they’re very different, from what I can tell.”

 

“Oh!” Rachel says, biting her lip, “Are you two…?”

 

Kurt blushes heavily and looks away, focusing his gaze on his fingers as he traces patterns into the wood of the divider.  “N-no.  We’re friends.  We’re all friends.”

 

Rachel falls silent, but Kurt can tell she’s struggling not to press further.  He guesses keeping silent isn’t one of her strong suits.

 

“Oh dear,” Rachel murmurs as they hear Blaine ask Brittany if he can take her sweater off.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Santana’s hand flies forward and grabs Blaine’s arm.  She winces as she accidentally puts too much weight on her bad leg.

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she snaps at Blaine, refusing to back down when he turns to look at her.  “She’s not taking off her clothes for you!”

 

Blaine is infuriatingly calm.  He speaks in even, measured tones, like he’s trying to placate a feral mountain lion, and it makes Santana wish she was one so she had the claws to rake across his face, anger and fear bubbling hot in her belly. 

 

“Just her shirt.  Puck has excused himself to get a lay of the land, and Kurt and I are not attracted to women.  Even if we were, this is a medical situation, and I’d never take advantage of that.  I promise she’s safe.  I need to have better access to her shoulder to make it as quick as possible, so there’s less pain.  You don’t want her to be in unnecessary pain, do you?”

 

Santana feels the metaphorical claws recede just a little as she glowers at Blaine, pursing her lips as her eyes flicker over her face.  She nods shortly.

 

“Alright,” Blaine smiles at her gently and moves his hands towards the top button on Brittany’s sweater.

 

“I’ll do it!” Santana declares petulantly, hobbling forward and batting his hands away.  “You don’t need to touch her more than necessary.”

 

Brittany’s hand comes up from the table to catch Santana’s and squeeze it gently.  “Santana, it’s okay.  Blaine’s the doctor, and he has sunshine in his eyes.  I don’t mind if he touches me.”

 

“Well, I do!” Santana snarls, and then is horrified to find her cheeks flushing with heat when Blaine raises his stupid triangle-eyebrows at her.  She glances over to see Rachel with her hand on her heart and the pale, skinny one – Kurt – looking at her with a furrowed brow and far too intelligent eyes.  “You’re too trusting sometimes,” she mutters to Brittany as she works the buttons of the sweater open, but Brittany just smiles and hums and grazes her fingers over Santana’s wrist bone.

 

As she finishes the last button, she realizes her hands are shaking violently and a wave of nausea hits her.  She jumps when a warm hand rests on her shoulder.

 

“You’re sweating a lot and you’re really pale.  Why don’t you sit down?  I promise Brittany is safe with me.”

 

“Sit down, Santana,” Brittany urges with a concerned frown.

 

“O-okay, fine,” she grinds out between her teeth, sounding much less menacing than she’d prefer, and she grabs a chair and plunks down right next to the tables Brittany is lying on.

 

She watches with narrow eyes as Blaine murmurs comfortingly to Brittany, pushing her sweater off her shoulder to get better access.  Blaine asks Kurt to bring him something Brittany can bite down on, so Kurt brings a wooden spatula from the kitchen.  Brittany’s eyes are big and scared when they slide to meet hers, and she reaches for her hand and squeezes tight.

 

“Okay,” Blaine breathes, placing his hands on Brittany’s arm and upper chest.  He makes a sudden jerking motion, slotting her arm back into its socket.  Brittany yelps around the wooden stick and tears trickle from her eyes down the sides of her face, but before Santana can reach up, Blaine is brushing them away with the pads of his thumbs and she kind of wants to punch him, but doesn’t really want to when he tells Brittany how brave she was.

 

“You were amazing,” she manages to strangle out, squeezing Brittany’s hand again.

 

“Alright,” Blaine says, turning to her as Brittany sits up and re-buttons her sweater, “your turn.”

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Kurt watches nervously as Santana refuses Blaine’s help up onto the table.  Brittany cuts away the material of Santana’s pants so that one of her legs looks like she’s just wearing shorts while Blaine lights a fire.  Rachel is pressing a needle and thread from the first aid kit into his hands and then suddenly he’s stumbling forward and standing beside their makeshift medical station.  He gazes at the wound on Santana’s thigh, which, while ugly, surprisingly does not scare him, and then into Santana’s eyes, which unsurprisingly to intimidate him. 

 

“We need to disinfect the wound, and disinfectant's the one thing we've run out of in our medical supply,” Blaine says, taking the cap off of Puck’s bottle of whiskey.

 

“Wait!” Santana says suddenly, sitting up and yanking to bottle from Blaine, taking a big swig and grimacing at the burn.  “This is going to fucking suck,” she mutters, taking another quick swig before handing the bottle back to Blaine.  Kurt winces when Blaine pours some of the whiskey on her wound and she hisses in pain, fingernails scrabbling at the table beneath her.  She takes a deep breath before wiggling her hands at Blaine.  “Gimme,” she says, taking the bottle again for another drink.  Then she turns to stare at Kurt, her already glassy eyes suspicious and skeptical.

 

“I’m not going to be able to concentrate with you glaring at me like that,” he informs her mildly.

 

She rolls her eyes but glances up to the ceiling.  “Just get it over with, okay, pretty boy?”

 

Her tone is derisive but he catches a tremor of apprehension in her voice and so doesn’t hold her words against her.

 

It's not an easy process.  Santana soon demands another swig of whiskey and bites down on the wooden spatula.  A white-faced Brittany stays by her side, holding her hand.  Both Rachel and Blaine excuse themselves ("Needles," Blaine chokes out as an explanation, whereas Rachel just looks like she's about to be sick).  He's about halfway through, stubbornly trying to ignore the tears streamind down the sides of Santana's face and the little whimpers coming from Brittany, when Puck walks in.  Everyone pauses and stares at him, and he stares right back.  Then he walks over and drags a chair to sit on Santana's other side, resting his elbow on the table and holding his hand up.

 

“You can squeeze my hand as hard as you want so you don’t break your friend’s fingers.”

 

Santana blinks at him and then lets out a little laugh around the spatula caught between her teeth and grips his hand, loosening her hold on Brittany’s hand but not letting go.  Puck smirks and then glances down at her leg.

 

“Nice work, Kurt.  Let’s finish sewing her up, then.”

 

As Kurt bows his head to renew his efforts, he hears Puck yelp in pain and Santana’s answering laugh.

 

A beat, then, "Hey, who drank all my whiskey?"

 

Kurt smiles a little to himself as he makes a stitch.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include: Minor side character death, memories/flashbacks to sexual assault, attempted rape

That first night, they’re introduced to drunken Santana, who is alternately hysterical and weepy and even more bossy and snarky.

Puck proposes a game of cards so everyone can get to know each other better and relax a little, but Brittany only knows Go Fish.  It turns out to be the best option for Santana as well, even though she spends most of the time accusing them all of lying about their cards.

“I just want to win one game,” she sobs, clinging to Brittany, “how has Rachel won five games? She’s like five years old!”

“I am not five!” Rachel huffs.  “Just because I’m shorter than you doesn’t mean I have the mental capacity of a child, Santana.  In fact, I’d say the game has proven that my intellect is far superior to yours!”

“It’s Go Fish,” Kurt reminds her with a smirk.

“And she’s plastered,” Puck adds, poking Santana in the arm so that she sways slightly.

She smacks his hand away.  “Watch it, Puckerman!” she slurs, “Since you’re the only guy here who likes vag, I’ve got my eye on you.  Don’t try to get fresh.  Not with me, especially not with Brittany.  Or even Rachel.” – Rachel lets out an offended gasp – “Or I’ll cut it off.”

Puck looks sufficiently cowed by this, and Blaine and Kurt snicker until she rounds on them.  “Don’t laugh, pretty ponies.  If he fucks up, you’re gonna pay, too, because you’re his pals.”

At their expressions, she abruptly bursts into tears and hides her face against Brittany’s chest.  “Why doesn’t anyone ever like me?” she wails, muffled against Brittany’s sweater, as Brittany pets her hair.  “I’m just trying to protect you!”

“Aw…I like you,” Brittany coos.

“I think maybe we should all get some rest,” Blaine says gently, “especially Santana.  Her leg will hurt tomorrow and she’ll likely have a hangover as well.”

The others agrees and start to pick up the cards.  Santana surfaces from her crying to glare and point an unsteady finger at them.  “Britt and me have one of the rooms downstairs and Rachel gets the other one because she’s like a tiny little elf that can’t defend herself.  You three haveta split this room up here.”

She means the dining area of the restaurant.  Kurt looks around.  Aside from the record player, there’s a large fireplace that should provide them with enough warmth.

“Well…” He turns to look at Blaine when he hears the hesitance in his voice and realizes Blaine is looking at him questioningly.  Kurt looks at Puck and then back again at Blaine.

“It’ll be fine,” he assures Blaine, and sees Puck do a little fist pump out of the corner of his eye.

He also sees Rachel tilt her head and frown, as though she isn’t sure what to make of the exchange, but knows there is something odd about it.  Kurt can feel his cheeks heating up, and is just glad Santana is too intoxicated to be as observant as Rachel, because she seems far too clever for his liking, especially when it came to things he’d rather stay private.

Rachel and Brittany cart Santana downstairs, and Kurt laughs softly when he hears Santana weeping about how much she loves Rachel, even if she is an annoying dwarf.

“You did an amazing job on Santana’s leg, Kurt,” Blaine tells him, squeezing his shoulder gently.

He smiles.  “Thank you.”

“Yeah.  Good to know someone around here can handle a needle and thread without freaking out.  I was getting real nervous about what would happen if I got sliced open, since Blaine here is a wuss.”

“I’m not a wuss,” Blaine grumbles at Puck, “I just have a fear of needles.  Just like you have a fear of-“

“Don’t say it,” Puck pleads, glancing at Kurt and blushing.

“Puck, you’re blushing,” Kurt says in delight, “Okay, Blaine, you have to tell me now!”

“No!” Puck yelps.

“Fish.  He has a fear of fish.”

Kurt stares for a moment and then collapses against the divider, giggling.  Blaine joins in.

“I’m swearing you to secrecy,” Puck tells them fiercely, “Don’t you ever tell those chicks, you hear?”

Blaine merely nods, choking on his own laughter.

“I promise I won’t reveal your adorable phobia,” Kurt tells him.

 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Blaine discovers that it doesn’t take much to adjust to living with women.  He and Puck have already learned to censor themselves on certain topics in Kurt’s presence, and they didn’t make a habit of changing in front of him, either.  These living patterns helped ease the transition from males only to the near constant presence of at least one woman.

No, it doesn’t take much to adjust to living with women, but it is certainly an adventure learning how to cohabitate with Rachel, Brittany, and Santana specifically.  Brittany and Puck take to one another immediately, but Santana throws a fit the very next morning, despite her obvious sore head, at the idea of them going off together to hunt, accusing Puck of luring her away to attack her, and Puck storms off and doesn’t return for the rest of the day, and with no food to show for his absence.  Five days in, Brittany finds a stray, probably diseased, cat and names it Lord Tubbington, insisting on taking it in.  Kurt is completely horrified by the thing and refuses to be in the same room with it, and Brittany grows alarmingly fierce when Blaine firmly tells her she can’t waste rations on her new friend.

And Rachel.  Rachel insists on being the first person to use the giant dish-washing sink in the kitchen they’ve converted into a bathtub every morning and every night.  She scolds Puck whenever he tracks in mud.  She tries to tell Blaine his rationing system is ineffective and wasteful.  And while it becomes clear soon enough that Brittany and Santana love Rachel, they certainly don’t like her, and she and Santana are at each other’s throats every other hour.

The only person Rachel cannot find fault with is Kurt.  She gloms onto him like he’s fine chocolate, which Blaine vaguely remembers tasting once in his childhood, when he and his sister shared a piece of the very rare food item.  She  follows him around, chattering incessantly with a near-constant gleam of hope in her eyes, and Blaine is relieved to see that Kurt seems to enjoy the attention, and while he usually lets her ramble on, sometimes he shyly participates in the conversation.  Blaine enjoys listening to these conversations, because Rachel is too wrapped up in doting on Kurt and informing him of her very set opinions to notice when he is quietly and gently mocking her.

Overall, though, the new company seems to liven everyone up.  Despite Santana’s protests, Puck and Brittany often hunt and scout together, and Brittany beams and preens when Puck exclaims how athletic and graceful she is.  Kurt and Rachel make great use of the old record player, singing along with classic songs.  Blaine likes to join them sometimes, but he usually declines, so he can hear Kurt’s voice, still quiet and tentative, when Rachel isn’t drowning him out with her oblivious belting.

And he and Santana form an unlikely friendship.  Despite Santana’s general hostility and Blaine’s everyday gentleness, they see in each other a kindred spirit they don’t really understand.  What Blaine does know is that when he catches her looking at Brittany, he knows her expression is a lot like the one he is catching himself wearing more and more when he looks at Kurt.

Brittany and Santana’s relationship is the worst kept secret that no one talks about.  Even Puck figures it out one evening when Santana is brushing Brittany’s hair and presses a gentle kiss to her head quickly.  He doesn’t say anything; only raises his eyebrows at Blaine and stays silent when Blaine shakes his head.  Blaine thinks Kurt might not recognize the true nature of their relationship, but he certainly can tell the two women are very close.

In any case, their relationship is not up for discussion, and neither is how all three women met.  Blaine asks one evening, and Rachel opens her mouth to respond, but Santana lets out something that actually sounds like a hiss, and her death glare is enough to prevent Rachel from talking.

Santana does tell Blaine how they acquired their injuries from the night they all met, though.

“We were starting to run out of food,” she explains one night, about two weeks after their arrival, as the two of them sit in the kitchen after everyone else has gone to sleep, “so Britt and I decided to go out hunting.  We’d been laying low, since we’d seen signs of other people in the area and most people are assholes, so we thought we’d play it safe.  We stayed close by.  I mean, you’ve seen our supplies; we didn’t have any good weapons aside from the gun, and that was for protection, not hunting.”

Her body tenses as she remembers, and her eyes cloud with fury.  “Britt’s so light on her feet, so I lost track of her until I hear her scream.  She wasn’t far, so I found her quickly, with this big dark guy pinning her down and pulling at her clothes.  I think I blacked out with rage or something because the next thing I know, I’ve cracked him over the skull with a rock and I’m pulling Brittany to her feet, except she’s crying because I’m pulling on her bad arm.  I didn’t even know it was dislocated.  We started to run away, but we didn’t know he had a friend with him, a creepy little guy with a nasal voice and frizzy hair.

“Brittany had twisted her ankle, so by the time we even got close to the house, I guess the little one had helped his friend and they had caught up to us.  The big guy grabbed Brittany and pulled her away from me, so I turned around to try to fight him off again.  But his little weasel friend had a knife…”

She pauses, gritting her teeth, and he wants to reach out and comfort her, but he knows it’ll just freak her out, knows it by the sickening sense of dread in his stomach.

“He had the knife to her throat.  He told me to lay down on the ground…and I did.  He had a knife to her throat, so what else was I supposed to do?” she spits, suddenly looking at him as though daring him to judge her.

“That was…very brave,” he manages to choke out, and his mind is flashing back to a night months ago, defenseless Kurt, Karofsky’s hands around his throat-

“He climbed on top of me,” she continues, looking away again, jaw tense, fingers digging into her thighs.  “I think he was trying to cut off my clothes, but he sliced my leg open instead.  I could hear Brittany crying and saying my name, and the big one just laughing at her.  He pulled at my clothes and I could smell his disgusting breath…”

Blaine grips the counter he’s sitting on to ground himself, heart thumping erratically in his chest.

“But then I heard a shot, and he fell on me: dead weight.  Britt screamed, and the next thing I knew, the big guy was lifting him off of me.  He’d thrown Brittany to the ground.  He tried to run away, but Rachel shot again, our last bullet.  It didn’t stop him; but it hit him in the shoulder.  He’s probably dead now, just like his friend.”

She breathes in and out several times, squeezing her eyes shut and grazing her fingers over the denim that hides the still healing cut on her leg.

“I hope he is,” she mutters, “and I hope it took a long time for him to die.”

He thinks of Karofsky, on top of naked, defenseless Kurt.  And he thinks of the sound of Puck’s fists connecting with his flesh, breaking his bones, squelching in his blood.  He thinks of how they left him there, and in the darkest part of his heart, he hopes he didn’t die immediately, either.

He can’t help it anymore; it’s just not in his nature to stay at a distance when someone is hurting, when he’s hurting.  It’s Santana, but he reaches out and clasps her hand between his anyway.  She doesn’t move, doesn’t look at him, but after a minute he feels her squeeze his hand faintly.  Then she lets out a little laugh.

“Who knew Rachel was such a good shot?  She got him right in the forehead.  I can’t even be mad at her for shooting at someone right on top of me.”

He chuckles quietly and she pulls her hand away, bringing it up to her face, even as she tilts her head so that her long black hair acts like a curtain, hiding her face from him.

“Anyway,” she says, flicking her hair back and staring forward, “we didn’t know if there were more of them, and Britt and I were injured, and we had no weapons left, so we managed to get inside and hole up in the basement.  And that’s where you guys found us, a couple hours later.”

  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Kurt is learning what happy feels like again.  It’s been so long, and he wasn’t expecting to recognize the feeling so easily, but it began creeping up on him when he traveled with Puck and Kurt, and now it’s filling him up, slow but sure.  Maybe it’s the way Puck claps him on the back just like he might Blaine, and his body can stand the blow and his mind doesn’t go right to a bad place.  Maybe it’s the way Rachel is doing everything to befriend him (it makes him think she’s never had a real friend before, since she doesn’t seem to understand that’s exactly what they are, and she doesn’t need to try so hard).  Maybe it’s the way Brittany likes to play with his hair, reminding him of his mother, humming aimlessly as her fingers comb through his thick strands.  Maybe it’s the way his and Blaine’s hands brush when they’re washing up or playing cards, and he doesn’t try to ignore the flutters in his stomach, even if he’s still not quite sure what he wants to do about them.

He tries.  Sometimes he laughs a little harder than he’s really feeling, or smiles a little wider.  But it’s slowly become more real, less pretend.  And when he falls asleep at night, the last thing he usually sees is Blaine’s face, whether his eyes are open and smiling at him, or his long, dark eyelashes are splayed against his cheek in slumber.

After her adamant insistence, Puck agreed to take Rachel hunting with him, though Brittany cautioned him against it.

“She’s like an elephant trapped in a tiny girl body,” she informed Puck seriously, “she makes way too much noise.  Once, she started singing.”

Nevertheless, the two are out for the day.  Brittany and Santana have disappeared, and Kurt and Blaine are working on inventory.

“I think I saw some extra bandages in Rachel’s room yesterday.  I’ll go get them,” he tells Blaine.

“Okay.  Do you want to grab a couple cans of beans for lunch while you’re down there?”  He nods and returns Blaine’s smile, trying to fight the flood of heat to his cheeks that is happening far too often these days.

He makes his way to the basement and to Rachel’s room, but pauses when he hears a quiet but high pitched noise coming from Brittany and Santana’s room, and then the sound of something hitting the floor.  He wrinkles his nose.  He hates that mangy cat of Brittany’s, but supposes it can’t hurt to peek in and make sure he isn’t destroying their room.

His eyes are glued to the image in front of him.




Naked, sweat-slick bodies pressed together, moving, sliding.  Brittany on top of Santana, biting at her shoulder, her hands cupping her naked breasts.

He can’t stop staring even as memories flood his brain, panting, heavy bodies on top, inside him, ripping him apart, grabbing, pulling hands, fingers digging into his skin, nails scraping, his wrists straining against restraints, screams, jeering laughter, Karofsky whispering for him to stay quiet, all of it rushing, swirling together.  He's shaking, vibrating on the spot, everything numb except it's not because phantom pain sears through him, everywhere, in, on, around, burrowing into his skin.

Brittany slips a hand between Santana’s legs, and Santana’s face scrunches up as she lets out a groan.

It’s the sound that startles him backwards, stumbling until he slams into the wall of the hallway.  Santana opens her eyes and sees him.  She starts yelling in a language he doesn’t understand – doesn’t know what she wants, can’t – can’t do anything but stare as she continues to scream at him with foreign words, and Brittany pulls a blanket up to cover their bodies.

Then someone is touching him, just his shoulders, but they’re leading him away and what can he do but follow?  Follow, obey.  His knees buckle, but the hands hold him up as they take him away, away.

 


	14. Chapter 14

It only takes Kurt a couple steps to realize he hasn’t gone away.  He’s not in a field of flowers with Mercedes or floating in a cool tank of water with his mother.  He can feel the cold floor on his feet, the gentle hands – Blaine – on his shoulders, guiding him down the hall and then up the stairs.

But he’s kind of removed from it, hiding inside himself, dull with shock and the exhaustion after a rush of unwanted memories and sensations, phantom pains and whispers of stillness and invasion.  Or at least, he hides until he’s seated on the edge of a booth in the restaurant dining area, Blaine’s trembling hands holding his face.  He sucks in a breath and focuses on anxious hazel eyes, the sound of Blaine’s voice finally reaching his ears.

“-okay?  Are you – Kurt, can you talk to me?”

He shuts his eyes so that all he takes in is the steady stream of Blaine’s stumbling words, and the feel of Blaine’s shaking fingertips ghosting over his cheeks.  He tries to keep himself there, but then all he can see is Brittany on Santana, biting her, touching her-

“H-hurting her.” He folds in on himself as he says the words, and Blaine’s hands fall away.

“Hurting…? Kurt, what do you mean?”

“She was…hurting…she w-was hurting her-“

“No, no, that’s not what-“

“Forcing her,” he chokes out, gripping his hair in his hands and pulling his knees to his chest.  He squeezes his eyes tight, refusing to let the tears fall.  “It’s like the same thing all over again.  I couldn’t tell.  Just l-like you couldn’t tell what he was doing to me.  It happened again.  W-we let it happen again.”

Blaine’s hands cover his tentatively, and then pull them away from his head, lacing their fingers together.  “That…Kurt, I know it must have been startling to see, but…” Blaine lets out a long sigh.  “Please look at me.”

Kurt finally opens his eyes, and the tears spill over.  Still, when he meets Blaine’s gaze, his eyes are comforting and tender and the touch of his hands grounds him.  “I…” he swallows heavily, “I couldn’t help.”

“Will you be okay alone for a minute?  I just want to go down to the basement quickly.”

He doesn’t want to let go of Blaine’s hands, but he knows he can.  He can sit on his own without falling to pieces.  “Yes…you should…g-go and help Santana.”  He ducks his head and stares down at his lap, watching tears drop down onto his pants.

“It’s going to be alright.  Everything’s going to be alright.” Blaine’s voice sounds strained, thick with emotion.

He keeps his gaze lowered when Blaine squeezes his shoulders gently and stands up from his crouched position, his footsteps leading to and down the steps to the basement.  Kurt closes his eyes again,  willing away the persistent memories, memories of him, and of Brittany and Santana, all swirling together until he cannot separate them out.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Blaine leaves a crying and stricken Kurt to find a confused Brittany and furious Santana still in their room.  Santana has thrown on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top.  Brittany is just wrapped in a blanket from their bed, otherwise undressed.

“What the fuck was that, Anderson?” Santana hisses as soon as he comes in the room.  She stands in attack mode, feet spread and planted firm, hands on hips.

“Santana,” he says gently.

“Don’t try your condescending bullshit on me right now.  How dare he act like that?  How dare he act like we were doing something wrong?!”  Blaine looks a little more carefully and sees that her eyes are bright.  She isn’t just angry; she’s very hurt.

“That’s not what he thinks,” he tries again.

“Don’t lie!  I saw his face!  He looked so…horrified, like we were disgusting!” Her voice breaks on the last word and she looks away, her face flushed red.

Blaine hesitates, but knows he must press on.  “He thinks Brittany was hurting you, Santana.  That’s why he reacted like that.  He doesn’t understand, and if you could go talk to him-“

“What?”  Brittany’s soft voice interrupts him.  He glances over and is alarmed to see her eyes filling with tears, her bottom lip trembling.

“I-“

“Kurt thinks I would hurt Santana?  I would never do that!”  And Brittany bursts into tears, hiding her face in her hands. 

“You have as much tact as a hammer to the face,” Santana snaps at Blaine, moving to pull Brittany into her arms.  Blaine suppresses a comment about Santana’s own tendency to speak without a filter.

“Why would he think that, Santana?  I love you; I don’t want to hurt you,” Brittany sobs, burying her face Santana’s neck.

“Britt, I’m sorry, I…Kurt just, he needs…if one of you, maybe Santana, could just go talk to him…”

“I don’t owe him anything,” Santana snarls, glaring at Blaine over Brittany’s head.

“That’s enough, Santana!”

Blaine’s harsh tone clearly startles her, but he can’t continue to play nice, not when Kurt is upstairs by himself, heart-broken and vulnerable.

“This isn’t about owing anyone anything,” he grinds out between his teeth, “this is about your friend hurting.  It’s not your fault, and no one here is to blame.  But it’s still Kurt, still the guy who sewed you up when you first met him, still the guy that braids Brittany’s hair whenever she wants.  He’s your friend, so will you please, please help him if you can?”

Santana isn’t one to give up without a fight, even though Blaine can see her eyes softening already.  “What makes you think I can help?  Obviously he has issues if the sight of two women together freaks him out.  I thought he was gay; why would he think there’s anything wrong about it?”

Blaine shakes his head in frustration.  “You don’t get it…he’s been through so much, he’s - … just please, go talk to him?  You don’t owe anyone an explanation, but I think if you could just help him understand…”

Santana’s eyes flicker to Brittany, who is wiping away the last of her tears.  “You should go talk to him, Santana,” Brittany mumbles, “I don’t want Kurt to braid my hair if he thinks I’m evil.”

Santana’s nostrils flare and she levels Blaine with a glare.  “Fine.  I’ll go have a chat with Kurt, and maybe I’ll remind him that knocking Is a good habit to take up while I’m at it.”

She stands up and brushes past Blaine, stepping into the hall.  Blaine follows her.

“Santana!”

She turns around, hands resting on her hips again, her lips pursed as she raises her eyebrows expectantly.

“Just…be gentle with him.  You have no idea-“

“Don’t assume you know what ideas I have, Blaine,” she says softly, but she gives him a little half smile and walks up the stairs.

Blaine returns to Brittany, sitting by her on the bed and wrapping and arm around her shoulders.  “Are you cold?  I can leave so you can change into some clothes.”  She sniffs a little and shakes her head, turning into him a little, so he grabs another blanket and drapes it over her shoulders, rubbing her arms a little for warmth.  “I’m sorry, Britt.  I didn’t mean to upset you.  And Kurt doesn’t think you’re evil.  He’s just really upset, too, and if we can get it all sorted out, it’ll all be okay.”

She nods a little against his neck, and then they’re both silent for a minute.  Blaine deflates, realizing he’s leaning on Brittany just as much as she’s leaning against him.  He rubs circles on her back when she starts to bite at her nails.

“I used to be a doll,” she says suddenly.

Blaine frowns and takes her hand, unsure if he even heard her correctly.

“I used to be a doll, but now I’m real.”

“Britt…I don’t know what you mean,” Blaine confesses.  He’s so drained right now; he can’t summon the energy to figure out the riddle of Brittany’s words.

She doesn’t make an effort to clarify, but continues on: “Lots of men liked to buy me and play with me.  They would use me to make them feel good.  I didn’t really like it, but I was a doll, so my feelings weren’t real, either.”

Blaine’s hand stills on her back, but he resists pulling away from her, since she’s still curled into his side.  He feels sick.

“One day, I was put back on sale, and Santana bought me.  I thought she wanted me to be a doll, but it turned out she wanted me to be me.  And then my feelings were real, and so were hers.  And now we’re in love.  And I’m not a doll anymore.”

“You’re…you’re saying…” he croaks, unable to finish the thought out loud.  She had made it perfectly clear.

Brittany pulls away and looks him in the eye.  “Santana understands more than you know, Blaine.  And so do I, even if you think I’m stupid.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he tells her, “You’re not stupid.”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Kurt looks up when the top step creaks, expecting to see Blaine.  But Santana stands there instead, arms crossed, leaning against the door frame.

She seems the same as always, even if her features are a little less severe than usual.  Her strength makes him feel weak, ashamed.  They stare at each other for a moment and he doesn’t know what to say, and then she’s sauntering over to him, arms swinging and he grips his knees hard.

“Shove over,” she says, and waits for him to move down the booth seat so she can sit beside him.  Kurt watches out of the corner of his eye as she rests her elbows on the table, steepling her fingers.

“So I guess the sight of two naked ladies has scarred your gay eyes for life,” she comments mildly, and her casual tone makes him whip his head to the side to look at her fully.

“I…I don’t care about that,” he whispers, his hands tensing on his knees again, desperately trying to keep the memories at bay.

Santana continues to stare straight forward.  “I think you’re a little confused about what you saw in our room.”  Her cheeks flush red, and she turns her head to meet his eyes.  “Brittany wasn’t hurting me.  She was actually making me feel really good.  I liked everything she was doing.”

This is the most sincere Santana has ever been with him, so he tries to process this idea. 

“Brittany and I have been together for a long time now,” she continues, her eyelashes sweeping across her cheeks, “but whenever I’m with her…I know what people mean when they talk about love.”

“You and Brittany…are lovers.  In love?” It’s a pretty foreign concept to Kurt, but he thinks back to words Blaine told him once, and his eyebrows rise when Santana echoes the sentiment behind them.

“Yes.  In love.  And when we’re together…intimate, we do it because we both enjoy it, and we’re showing that love with our bodies.”

She lets out a derisive laugh.  “God, I sound like a total sap.  Don’t tell anyone I said something so cheesy.”

“Blaine said something like that once,” Kurt says slowly, remembering the look of those wide, earnest eyes pleading for him to understand.

“He would,” Santana scoffs.

Kurt is quiet for a moment, trying to think back to what he saw without triggering memories of his own past.  “You were screaming.  I didn’t know what you meant-“

“I was swearing at you in Spanish.  Sorry.  It kind of happens when I’m pissed off.  I thought you were grossed out by us.”

“I didn’t-“ Kurt closes his eyes, sagging against the back of the booth, “I got things confused; I thought…you were being forced,” he ends on a whisper.

“Kurt, I don’t know what’s in your past, and I don’t expect you to tell me.  But what Brittany and I do is not about force.  And neither is sex in general when both people want it.”

Kurt can feel his face heating up and he looks down at the table top, pressing his palms against the cool surface.  “I know that.”

“Are you sure? Because you kind of lost your shit down there, and we were just getting started.  Thanks for the interruption, by the way.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, I’m kidding.  As much as the lady times interruptus sucks, this is obviously a little more important right now.”

Kurt smiles a little.  Her brash way of talking somehow eases the tension in his shoulders.  “I meant, I know, logically.  I know the difference.  But sometimes I-“  He breaks off, because he isn’t ready, isn’t comfortable, not quite.  He’s veering too close to things that Santana has probably already guessed at, and it still hurts too much.  It still makes him feel ashamed.  He hides his face from her, but then feels her nudge his shoulder.

“Well, you’re now one of the privileged few to get a glimpse of The Twins, so it’s not all that bad.  Think about how you can lord it over Puck.  My tits are magnificent.”

“I wouldn’t,” he assures her, “I won’t tell.”

Santana shrugs, but her casual air can’t hide her blush.  “I think everyone already knows now.  It’s not like I wanted to keep things a secret; it’s just…it’s our private business.  Private feelings.”

They fall silent when they hear heavy steps on the porch outside and Rachel’s constant stream of chatter.  Puck and Rachel burst into the house and Santana laughs at the sight of Rachel, covered heat-to-toe in mud and shivering.

“You didn’t even try to stop me from falling into that puddle!”

“Well, if I had, I wouldn’t have got the jump on this,” Puck replies defensively, holding up a large dead hare by the ears, which has Rachel blanching.

“You’ll never convince me to go hunting with you again, Noah!” Rachel cries dramatically, pointing an angry finger at him and stalking towards the kitchen, presumably to wash clean.

Puck turns to Kurt and Santana and grins at them.  “Rabbit for lunch!”

“I think I’ll stick with beans,” Rachel calls petulantly from the kitchen.

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

Kurt and Brittany make up quickly. While Puck skins the rabbit and Rachel scrubs herself clean, Santana takes Kurt back down to the basement, where they find Blaine and Brittany sitting and cuddling. Brittany looks up at him, her face stained with tears. Wordlessly, he opens his arms, and she leaps up, forgetting she only has a towel wrapped around her body and throws herself against him. Kurt takes a second to hug her back, stunned at the strange feeling of a naked female body pressed against him. He almost laughs when Blaine shuts his eyes and Santana scrambles to pick up the blanket and wrap it around Brittany again.

“You don’t think I’m evil anymore,” Brittany murmurs in his ear. It isn’t a question.

“No.”

“I would never hurt Santana.”

“I know.”

They wait for Brittany to get changed, and then go up for lunch. Everyone laughs at Rachel’s pout while Puck tells the story of just how exactly she ended up in that puddle. Blaine takes Kurt’s hand under the table tentatively, and Kurt laces his fingers through his.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Blaine waits a week before he brings up his conversation with Brittany to Santana.

It’s just the two of them, wrapped in layers and sitting on the porch one evening, keeping watch. Puck had spied some travelers that morning, and while they didn’t appear particularly menacing, it’s always good to be on their guard.

“Brittany told me she used to be a doll,” Blaine says quietly, his breath ghosting in the night air.

Santana looks at him sharply. Blaine can only see her eyes and nose, as she has a balaclava pulled over her face. Her voice is a little muffled behind the material. “What?”

Blaine remains silent; he knows she heard him.

“Just what are you thinking, Blaine?” Santana’s voice is venomous. She tugs the balaclava down and tucks it under her chin, staring at him fiercely. “You think I took advantage of her? Huh?”

“No,” he says calmly. He looks into her eyes for a moment, so she’ll know he isn’t accusing her of anything. She sags back into her chair.

A few moments pass in silence. Blaine bites down on his lip, hesitating, before he tells her something he’s never told anyone. “When…I told my parents I was gay, I overheard them talk about selling me. So I left. I haven’t seen my sister since.”

Santana looks at him, stunned.

“What did she tell you, exactly?” She says hesitantly, her voice gentler than he’s ever heard it before.

“She said she was a doll, that men bought her and…played with her. She said she didn’t like it.” Blaine pauses, grimacing. “Then you came, to an auction, I’m assuming, and bought her. And now you’re together. In love. She says she’s not a doll anymore; she’s herself.”

He looks away, out over the road, as Santana ducks her head, wiping at her eyes with a mitted hand.

“That’s the only way she can talk about it,” she says thickly. “They – I don’t really know all the details, but I think she was sold into the market when she was just a little girl…” Blaine hears the tremble in Santana’s voice, but he doesn’t reach out for her just yet; he knows she wouldn’t want him to hear it. “They hurt her. They’re why she’s…like she is, you know? It’s her way of coping. Of being okay. I love her just like she is, trust me. But I still want to cut all their balls off and feed them to each other. And then rip out their hearts.”

Blaine nods his understanding. It’s how he feels about the nameless, faceless strangers who tortured Kurt.

“I was…17, I think. I snuck into an auction one night with this other girl – our dads were in business together, Sugar, I think her name was. Stupid name. Anyway, we snuck in, just out of morbid curiosity, I guess. And then I saw Brittany. So beautiful, and so…so innocent, I could tell, even though they announced she was…they said she was used, God, those people were disgusting. And she was so scared, standing up there all alone, looking out at everybody.”

Santana stops to collect herself. Blaine is amazed; this is Santana, and he knows she doesn’t trust easily, not like Brittany, who is still so innocent in a lot of ways, not like Rachel, hungry for love and willing to bare her soul for it. He’s touched that she can open up to him about these things.

“I didn’t have much money, but Sugar’s dad had given her a ridiculous wad of cash. It’s a good thing the stuff was still useful back then. Just paper for burning now. I couldn’t help it; I bid on her, and Sugar gave me the money to pay for her. My parents didn’t really care when I brought her home; I told them I wanted a servant girl who could pick up after me. They gave Sugar’s dad the money I owed.

“So we stayed at home for about six months. It was weird looking after her without letting anyone know, especially since she kept trying to offer me sex, and I was kind of freaking out about, you know, the whole I-find-girls-hot thing. My dad’s a doctor, and he had her checked over and ended up giving her medicine for…for syphilis. But after a few months, I started to fall for her. I think it took her a lot longer to fall back, just because she couldn’t tell the difference between what I felt and what those other people wanted from her. My parents found out, and they were furious. Not only did I have feelings for a slave, I had them for a girl. I heard them talking about selling her back to the market one night, so we ran.” She shrugs, playing off something Blaine knows is a lot deeper than she wants it to be. He can tell, because that's how he feels, too. “It’s been about five years. We started traveling with Rachel about two years back.”

Blaine reaches for her hand then, awkwardly, since he’s so weighted down with layers, and grabs it, curling his gloved fingers over her palm, smiling sadly when she squeezes back faintly.

“I’m sorry. That’s a lot.”

Santana shrugs. “We’ve all got our stories.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Puck stands just inside the door, Blaine and Santana’s voices fading from his awareness as they move on to another topic of conversation. He clutches at the wall desperately, his fingers scraping uselessly at the wood.

He knows it’s wrong, that he even has to resist the burning desire to go find Brittany and shake her by the shoulders until she tells him everything she knows. She’s been places, seen things, met people. She knows how it all works. She could know, somehow. She could know someone or remember something that would give him some kind of clue, some kind of starting place to find her.

He grits his teeth, eyes stinging, telling himself he can’t just go and demand anything of her. But it’s so close, so close he can taste it – but that’s blood in his mouth from where he’s bitten down too hard on his cheek. He presses his palms to his eyes as he swallows the coppery taste, tongue laving over the cut as if to sooth the gaping wound of his heart.

He remembers this is Brittany. His hunting partner, who moves with the grace and agility of a cat and grins at him whenever they manage to bag a rabbit or wild chicken. His sweet girl, who names all the animals they kill and thanks them for their generous sacrifice. Brittany, who calls him a reverse-skunk and claims that’s why he smells so nice, and loves to cuddle him whenever Santana isn’t around to glare at him.

Brittany, who has been through a kind of hell he can only imagine, and has come out of it good, and beautiful, and smart in her own way.

So when he does go to find her, it’s after he has calmed down. She’s in Rachel’s room. She, Kurt, and Rachel are sitting on the bed as Brittany explains the rules to some game she has invented. They all turn to look at him, Kurt with a small smile, Rachel pursing her lips, but with a fond look in her eyes. Brittany smiles wide and holds out her hand for him. He takes it, stunned at how small and soft it feels in his grasp, and clambers onto the bed. He rests his chin on her shoulder as she goes back to explaining her game and just breathes.

It’s coming up on two years since he last saw her face. He knows he’ll see her again.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Kurt is more aware of Santana and Brittany now. Walking in on them together has made them, as a romantic pair, so much more obvious to his once ignorant eyes. Of course, they’ve become less discreet, as well.

“Cat’s outta the bag; might as well enjoy it,” Santana reasons, and Kurt has to blush and look away when Brittany kisses her noisily.

They tone it down around Kurt, and he knows it’s because they want to be careful around him. He appreciates the thought, even if he finds it embarrassing. And they touch the least when Puck is around.

“You’d like it too much,” Santana tells Puck with false sweetness. “We’re not giving you a free show so you can get your rocks off, Puckerman.”

Puck looks both insulted and vaguely disappointed.

Blaine and Rachel bear the brunt of Brittany and Santana’s now public affection. Blaine has the misfortune of walking in on Santana with a hand up Brittany’s shirt in the dining room and hurriedly telling Kurt they should go back downstairs. Rachel storms out of the kitchen one day, followed by the pair of them with hair mussed and sweaters askew, harping at them.

“I understand that you are in love, and while I fully support and applaud your complete embrace of your Sapphic leanings, you two have a bedroom! And it is NOT the kitchen!”

“A lot of eating does go on there, though,” Brittany informs her mildly, and Kurt has to rub Blaine’s back through a coughing fit.

But aside from the more obnoxious displays of their affection, he notices how sweet they are with each other, how caring. They hold hands, hug, and cuddle. Santana practically purrs when Brittany gives her scalp massages, and when Brittany feels ill for a few days and finds the basement too cold, Santana doesn’t leave her side: feeding her soup, reading to her, rubbing her belly.

Watching the two of them leaves Kurt with a sweet kind of ache in his chest. He sees the way Santana looks at Brittany sometimes, and he can’t help but think (hope) that it’s the kind of look Blaine seems to be giving him more and more.

The way he feels for Blaine is different than how he feels for Puck or Rachel, and he’s known it for quite some time. He finds it increasingly strange to be so comfortable yet filled with such a nervous, buzzing energy around one person. His eyes linger more and more on the outlines of Blaine’s body. He sees the strength in his arms and chest and knows it could be used to hold him down and hurt him, but he also knows it never would be; he remembers what it feels like to be held by them, safe, warm, gentle.

Every time he sees Brittany and Santana kiss, he wonders what it would feel like to have Blaine’s mouth on his own. Even after all he’s been through, he has still never been kissed.

Blaine makes him want to change that.


	16. Chapter 16

Kurt decides to consult with Rachel.  Blaine is who he feels most comfortable with, but obviously he can’t talk to him about kissing him.  Not yet, anyway.  Puck seems have a casual attitude towards romantic relationships that Kurt doesn’t understand, and he’s too embarrassed to talk to Brittany (who would probably just confuse him) or Santana (who would certainly tease him), though he plans to observe them for kissing techniques.

Snow is falling, thick and wet, one afternoon when Rachel and Kurt emerge from the house to chop down some small trees for firewood.  The others are out hunting and scavenging, to store up for the long winter ahead, and Kurt decides it’s the perfect time to ask Rachel for advice.

He watches her for a moment as she waddles beside him, her small body comically weighed down with layers of clothing to keep warm.  He’s been putting on a little fat and muscle with a regular, healthy diet, and doesn’t get as cold as easily as he used to, but they all have to bundle up at this point in the winter.

They find a felled tree, and Kurt swings the rusty hatchet they brought with them.  Rachel stands back and keeps an eye on their surroundings, the old, unloaded gun held in her mitten-covered hands.

“Rachel,” Kurt puffs out as he hacks at the wood.

“Hm?”

“Have you…have you ever kissed anyone?”

He looks up to see her look away shyly, fiddling with the gun.

“Why?”

“Have you?”

“Well, of course I have,” she says, managing to look prissy even under all those layers.  “I am twenty years old, you know.  And there was a boy who liked me…before my dads-“ She cuts herself off, frowning and looking away, and Kurt decides it isn’t the time to inquire about that, as curious as he might be.  He goes back to chopping up the tree.

“…did you like it?”

Rachel shuffles forward and pats his shoulder, pulling him back from his work.  “Kurt, are you saying you’ve never kissed anyone?”

He gives her a look, and her eyes widen.  

“It’s fine!  There’s nothing wrong with that.  Not at all.  Although…how old are you, exactly?”

Kurt feels his cheeks flushing against the cold and averts his eyes.  He can’t remember how old he is exactly.

At the shrug of his shoulders, Rachel hums again.  

“Is this about Blaine?”

“Rachel!” Kurt snaps. “I asked you a question; if you don’t want to answer, just say so.”  He stubbornly turns back to the tree, digging the hatchet’s rusty blade into the wood and glaring down at his work as his traitorous heart flutters.

Rachel sits down on the log.  “If I’m honest with you about something embarrassing, will you be honest with me about…that?”

Kurt purses his lips and tilts his head to the side, before sitting beside her.  “I’m listening.”

Rachel glances around as if to make sure they won’t be overheard, and Kurt rolls his eyes in fond amusement.  She leans in closer to him, eye wide and entreating.

“I made out with Noah!”

“What?!” Kurt gasps as Rachel buries her face in her hands with a little squeal.  “You…you and Puck?”

She emerges, bright red, and nods, biting her lip.  “Two weeks ago.  We were keeping watch one night, and Noah convinced me it would be a good idea to warm ourselves with a nightcap-“

“You guys took swigs of that whiskey he found, didn’t you?”

Rachel presses on, her chin tilting up.  “It was still cold, so I suggested we share a blanket for warmth, and, well…he is rather attractive, and we certainly managed to stay warm!”

“Did…” Kurt can scarcely believe he’s about to ask it. “Did you…?”

“No!” Rachel looks mortified.  “No; of course not.  Noah is a heart-breaker.  And besides, Rachel Berry doesn’t settle for second choice.”

Kurt frowns in confusion.

“He’s in love with someone else.  I can tell.  I know I can be…self-involved sometimes, but I can be observant when I want to.”  She nods significantly, and Kurt worries about what other things she has observed.

“Sooo…” she wiggles closer to him, nudging his arm with her shoulder.  “Your turn.”

Kurt feels his face flush with heat and stares down at his lap, trying hard to fight the smile threatening to spread across his face.

“Come on,” Rachel wheedles, and she starts to sing rather loudly in the stillness of the air, “If there is a load! You have to bear! That you can’t carry!  I’m right up the road! I’ll share your loa-“

“Okay, okay,” he cuts her off, huffing out a laugh.  He bites his lip to stall and gather his courage.  He has never said it out loud, though he has felt it in his heart for so long.

“I…I’m in love with Blaine.”

Rachel gasps in delight and claps her hands, bouncing on the log.  “I knew it!  Of course I knew; I’ve known since we first met!”

“Oh God,” Kurt groans, “is it that obvious?  How embarrassing…”

“Why?” Rachel asks, plaintive.  “Why should you be embarrassed about love? In case you haven’t noticed, the world we live in could use a lot more of it!”

Kurt hugs himself; he certainly doesn’t need Rachel to remind him of how awful the world is.

“I-I mean, of course you’ve noticed; we all have.  But Kurt, it’s not obvious to everyone.  At least, I’ve never heard Brittany or Santana say anything about it.”

Kurt decides to press on and move away from further embarrassment.  “I want to kiss him.  But I’ve never done it before, so I’m…I’m…worried, I guess.  That it won’t be good.  That he won’t like it, that, that *I* won’t like it.”

Rachel nods.  “It’s an understandable concern.  Although…if I may say so, I think Blaine would be a good kisser.  His lips look very soft and supple, and he’s so gentle with his hands, he’d probably cup your face and hold-“

“Okay, okay,” Kurt says, his belly twisting strangely as his eyes fluttered shut at the images Rachel’s words produced, “careful, or I’ll think you’re in love with him.”

Rachel laughs.  “While Blaine is very charming and handsome, I only see him as a friend.  And like I said, Rachel Berry doesn’t settle for second place.”  She gives him a meaningful look, and he smiles a little.  He knows Blaine cares about him, probably more than anyone else ever has since his parents, but that doesn’t mean he’s in love with him, or that he’d want to kiss him.

Rachel seems sure, though, that if he were to make a move, he wouldn’t be rejected.  She doesn’t have much advice by way of kissing techniques, her own experiences pretty limited, but Kurt thinks that what she does say seems right.

“I think a first kiss should be very romantic.  Of course, that probably means different things to different people.  But for me?”  She sighs, wistful.  “He’d come towards me like he can scarcely believe I’m close enough to touch.  He’s reach out and hold me, taking me in his arms or gently tucking my hair behind my ear.  No matter what, every moment of contact would make me feel special and precious.  And our lips would linger like we couldn’t bear to part.”

“Wow, Rachel,” Kurt says after a moment of silence, “you’re a poet.”

“When I was younger, I always loved to perform, especially singing.  I’d sing along with all the songs my dads owned, especially the romantic ones,” she says, standing back up and picking up the hatchet.  “I promised myself back then that I would become famous, and everyone would come to hear me sing, especially my own songs that I’d write about an amazing love affair in my life.  Of course, things were…much different even back then.”  Her face sours, pulling into a deep frown as she squeezes her eyes shut.  “The last thing I want to do now is be an entertainer.”

The change in subject makes Kurt uneasy, and before she can start chopping, he takes the hatchet from Rachel and goes back to work on the tree.  They stay silent for a while, and Kurt wonders what Rachel is thinking about as his mind races with thoughts of Blaine, of lips and hands and fingertips, of his feelings.  From the look on her face, he guesses it’s something that causes her a lot of pain, and he’s sorry for it.

When they go back inside, arms full of wood, Kurt puts the kettle on and pulls out one of the last bags of tea that they have, Black Currant, because he knows it’s Rachel’s favorite.

***

There are three moments over the following two weeks where Kurt thinks he might actually kiss Blaine.

The first is three days after his talk with Rachel.  He and Blaine have taken watch for the evening, clutching mugs of hot, watered-down coffee in their mittened hands.  It’s very cold, but they can’t afford not to keep a look out, especially with the windfall of the restaurant.  Blaine goes inside and gets a blanket and they huddle together, wrapping it around their shoulders.  They’re so close, and Kurt watches the puffs of air escape Blaine’s mouth, twisting silver-grey in the night’s air.  What would it take for him to reach out, run a line down Blaine’s cheek, press their lips together, drink down those silvery wisps of breath?

But he thinks of Puck and Rachel drunkenly tangling tongues in the same circumstances and is put off the idea.

The second time, it’s a week later.  Puck and Rachel are outside keeping watch, and Brittany and Santana have retreated to their bedroom after an evening of playing cards and listening to music.  Blaine falls asleep on the couch they’ve formed from one of the booths.  His long eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and his lips are slightly parted.  Kurt brushes a curl off of his forehead, and he thinks it would be just like one of his fairy tale books from his childhood.  But he wants to look into Blaine’s eyes, see them saying how much he wants to kiss Kurt, so he just tucks a blanket around Blaine gently and goes to sleep himself.

The final time is two days after that, when Rachel is singing in the main room, but he and Blaine are in the kitchen, taking inventory on their food supply.  Usually, Rachel belts out her songs, using her powerful voice to full effect, but right now, she’s singing a soft, delicate ballad, a romantic, sweet tune.  Kurt props his chin up on his hand as he watches Blaine’s thick eyebrows furrow in concentration .  He could just reach out and touch his chin, pull Blaine’s face towards his and kiss away that slight frown on his mouth.  But he hesitates for too long, his nerves and old doubts getting the best of him, and before he can act, Puck bursts into the kitchen with a small deer over his shoulders and throws it down onto the table proudly, bragging about Brittany’s excellent shot with a bow and arrow he’d fashioned for her.

After the full two weeks have passed, Rachel asks if he’s made any progress.  At his glum look, she pats his knee reassuringly.

“The right time will come.  Kurt, I – there’s so much ugly in our world.  A first kiss should be…should be a moment of beauty, when you feel completely loved.  That’s what I want for you.”

***

He thinks he’s finally found the moment, when he and Blaine are alone together in Rachel’s room, spread out on the garish pink blanket she keeps on her bed.

They’re flipping through an old magazine they’ve looked at dozens of times. They still like to make fun of the silly outfits on the people who must’ve been famous long ago.

“I don’t think there’s any universe where that could actually look good,” Blaine says, laughing at a woman’s dress that looked taped on and turning the page. “I think that would suit you, though.” He points at a man wearing a soft blue sweater.  Kurt smiles, pleased, cheeks heating up.

“You think so?”

“Yeah.” Blaine turns his head to meet Kurt’s gaze. “It would compliment your eyes really well.”

They’re so close together. Kurt can hear Blaine’s breathing, steady and light.  Blaine shifts a little, sitting up a bit so that he’s at the same height as Kurt.

He hasn’t looked away yet.

Kurt finds his gaze dropping, eyes resting on Blaine’s mouth, soft, relaxed, just inviting him to lean in. “It’s lovely,” he says without thinking. He blinks and looks back up just in time to see Blaine’s eyes flit down and then back up. Kurt’s heart speeds up at the sight of Blaine’s eyes; they’re darker than normal, like the whiskey Puck is so fond of.

His fingers curl into Rachel’s pink blanket and he holds his breath as he leans in, eyes sliding shut.

“Kurt, wait.”

Blaine’s words are like a bucket of ice water over his head and his eyes snap open. Blaine is leaning away from him, looking pained.

Kurt shuts his eyes again, raising his hand to his mouth and turning his head away.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says, “I-”

Hot shame washes over him and he turns on the bed, facing away from Blaine and pulling his legs up to hold them close.  “I thought you...”  How could he think that Blaine could be interested in him romantically? Blaine is touchy and friendly with everyone; it doesn’t mean anything special when it comes to Kurt. He thinks back to how Blaine found him all those months ago, naked and dirty and dying, and it’s so obvious that all he could possibly feel for him is compassion and protectiveness.  “I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not.”

Blaine sounds upset and Kurt fights back his tears. “It was stupid to think you could...you could actually want someone like me,” he whispers. _Someone damaged_.

“Hey.” Blaine’s fingertips brush the back of his hand tentatively. He sounds mournful. It’s just like him to feel bad for rejecting Kurt.  “That’s not it. Someone like you...Kurt, you’re all I want.”

Kurt opens his eyes at this and a tear slides down his cheek.  He can barely believe what he just heard.  He turns his head slowly, shifting his body so he can see Blaine.

Blaine’s eyes are wide and glassy with unshed tears, his mouth pulled into a small frown.

“Wh-what?” Kurt breathes.

“Please don’t think that...that anything that’s happened to you could stop me from feeling the way I do about you,” Blaine says, his voice a croak. “Kurt...I love you.” His hand covers Kurt’s now and Kurt sits, stunned. “I’m in love with you.”

Kurt’s throat feels thick, like his heart is lodged in there, which can’t be right, because it’s obviously already in Blaine’s possession. “You are?” Is all he manages, reeling from this whiplash of emotion. He turns his hand palm up. Their fingers slide together.

“I am,” Blaine murmurs, looking down at their hands and then meeting his eyes again.

Kurt blinks rapidly, a tremulous smile playing at his lips. “Why did you pull away from me then?” He asks in happy confusion.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Blaine says in that pained voice from earlier, “you’ve been through so much and I could never live with myself if I did anything to cause you more pain. I never want to cross a line, or...or take advantage-”

Kurt frowns. “So what happened to me in the past doesn’t affect your feelings for me, but it does affect you acting on them.”

Blaine stares at him in surprise. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I thought that maybe, one day, when you’re ready, and if you felt the way I did, we could be together. But it always seemed like a distant future.”

Kurt feels a kind of surety he has never felt before. Blaine’s confession has given him strength and bravery and he doesn’t bother to wipe his tears before he speaks again. “Blaine, I’m ready now. Do you want to kiss me?”

Blaine stares at his mouth unabashedly now. “Yes,” he says, low and strained, and it makes Kurt almost squirm with pleasure.

He holds Blaine hand between both of his own, taking a deep breath. “I really want to share my first kiss with you. Right now.”

Blaine’s eyes are wide and honest and vulnerable and Kurt has never felt safer than in this moment.

His eyes flutter shut when Blaine cups his cheek and wipes away his tears. He leans in to the touch with a sigh, and then his breath catches when he feels Blaine’s lips, feather-light on the corner of his eyebrow.  Then they graze the opposite cheekbone and the moment seems suspended as they leave his skin, only to return and press gently against his mouth.

It takes a second for Kurt to react, and Blaine’s soft, firm mouth stays there, intimately knowing every curve and dip of his own, until he sucks in a breath and presses back, his hand coming up to caress Blaine’s jaw. Blaine holds Kurt’s face with both hands, his touch delicate and almost searching; his mouth moves against Kurt’s and Kurt shivers.

When their lips part, they do not. Blaine leans his forehead against Kurt’s, fingertips tracing the shell of his ear and leaving tingles behind as they both draw in a deep breath.

Kurt doesn’t ever want to break this perfect moment until he does, when he grips Blaine’s shirtfront and slots their lips together again.

Nothing has ever felt as good as kissing Blaine’s smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this in forever! I know, I am a terrible person. But it isn't abandoned and hopefully this chapter was somewhat worth the embarrassingly lengthy wait.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some triggery content at the start of this chapter.

Blaine’s lips are on his, warm and soft.  Kurt sighs as they skate down to his jaw.

 

Blaine’s body is warm and so close.  Their feet tangle together.

 

Blaine is kissing his throat now, and it feels so good.  Maybe too good, too much.

 

“Maybe we can slow down,” Kurt breathes out, unsure.

 

“You feel so good,” Blaine replies.  His warm hands slide down from Kurt’s shoulders and circle his wrists.

 

Something tightens in Kurt’s chest.  “I don’t think…”

 

Blaine’s hands tighten around his wrists painfully, and suddenly they’re cold, chilling Kurt to his bones.  Blaine leans back, looking at him with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

“Don’t think.  You know this is all you’re good for.”

 

Kurt tries to move but the shackles on his wrists weigh him down.

 

“Please don’t…!”

 

Blaine is gone, and in his place is someone else, then someone else, then someone else.  The one with the scraggly moustache.  The one who likes to use cigarettes on him.  The one who always seems to smell even worse than the rest.

 

And then Karofsky.

 

“What did I tell you?  We all know what your purpose is.”  He trails a finger down Kurt’s chest and Kurt shuts his eyes.

 

When he wakes up, he doesn’t jolt to a sitting position or cry out or thrash around.  He just opens his eyes with a very quiet gasp and stays very still.

 

The first thing he sees is Blaine, fast asleep, just a couple feet away.  He rolls over so he can’t see him and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, determined not to cry.

 

It’s been three weeks since their first kiss.  They’ve exchanged a few more, but really nothing different than that first, wonderful time.

 

So why this dream? Why now?

 

Kurt feels sick, feels guilty.  He curses his mind for associating Blaine with any of...that. For tainting what they share with his past.

 

He’s been trying not to spend all his time wondering over and over why Blaine is bothering with him.  He knows.  He knows Blaine loves him, wants to be with him, would never want anything to make him uncomfortable or hurt him.  He knows it in his heart.  But his mind, dreaming or awake, refuses to let it be that simple.

 

Kurt turns over again so he can look at Blaine, but Blaine has turned over too, so all Kurt can see is the back of his head.  He sighs and burrows deeper under his covers, curling up and hugging his knees tight, trying to squeeze the dull ache out of his stomach.

 

He and Blaine love each other, but he’s scared it won’t be enough.

 

***

 

When Blaine wakes up, he can hear Kurt in the kitchen.  He smiles and, despite the chilly morning air, he gets up and pads past Puck, unable to resist greeting Kurt before he restarts their fire.

 

The winter seems to go on and on.  All six of them hole up as much as possible in the restaurant, wearing layer after layer and huddling under blankets, only going out to hunt or chop wood.  But lately Blaine can only feel cozy and warm.

 

Kurt is standing over the wood-burning stove, stirring a pot of oats and water.  As he adds a sprinkle of their ever-diminishing supply of salt, Blaine walks up to him and says “Good morning,” running his hands down Kurt’s arms lightly.

 

He notices when Kurt stills and moves his hands.  “Are you okay?”

 

Kurt turns to look at him with a smile, but Blaine can see something hiding in his eyes.  “Yeah, fine.  Morning.  Um…”  He tilts his face towards Blaine a little, eyelids dropping.

 

Blaine smiles and meets him halfway with just the lightest of kisses.

 

When Kurt pulls away, his smile is bigger and now it reaches his eyes.  “Oatmeal?”

 

“Sounds great.  Just going to go start a fire; the main room isn’t toasty like in here, and you know how Puck gets when it’s hunting day and the room is cold.”

 

Kurt continues to smile as he begins to ladle some of the oatmeal into a bowl, so Blaine considers the morning a success so far.

 

“Good morning boys!” Rachel enters the kitchen, her voice too loud.  The quiet intimacy of their moment together is shattered, and Puck will probably wake up now and grumble and insist on not emerging from his blankets until someone warms up all his clothes and brings them to him before he’ll agree to go outside.

 

Still, Blaine can’t really hold Rachel’s own force of personality against her, especially not when she takes the first bowl of oatmeal and has a spoonful, and immediately begins exclaiming how delicious it is, and oh, how she loves it when it’s Kurt’s turn to cook, because no one can hold a candle to him, aside from her own cooking skills, of course.  He sees how it both amuses and genuinely pleases Kurt.

 

He leaves them in the kitchen, smiling at Brittany and avoiding eye contact with Santana (everyone knows that if they are not a tall blonde woman, they should not interact with Santana until she’s been awake at least 30 minutes) as the two of them head to the kitchen.

 

Puck is indeed awake, though he’s pretending he isn’t.  Blaine has been travelling with him long enough to tell the difference.  He ignores him and begins setting up the fire, shaking one of the few matches left out of the box.  He’ll have to go chop more wood today.

 

“See if you can find more matches or something when you go out today, Puck,” Blaine says, grinning at the incoherent grumbles that answer him.

 

After Blaine’s had his oatmeal, and the fire has been crackling for a good while in the main room, and Brittany has hung some of Puck’s clothes over the flames to heat them up, Blaine finally goes back to his friend to not-so-gently get him up and going, but finds Puck already sitting up and shrugging on a ratty sweater.

 

“Hey,” Blaine says, surprised, “I thought I’d have to drag you out from the covers today.”

 

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about something.”  Puck glances at him warily, so Blaine settles down, cross-legged, on his own mattress.

 

“Look, dude, you know I’m happy for you and Kurt.  You two finally got your shit together and now it’s like a fucking gay fairy tale around here all the time, between you guys and the ladies.”

 

Blaine watches Puck hesitate, and then set his jaw, like he’s just got to get through what he’s going to say next, and everything will be okay.

 

“I’m just gonna need a warning for when you two start doing the horizontal tango, because the three of us share a room and we’re gonna have to work out some sort of system.  And find somewhere for me to make myself scarce when necessary.”

 

Blaine stares, very aware that his cheeks are turning pink.  “That’s very...courteous of you?”

 

“What can I say, the Puckster is never one to get in the way of his friends getting some.”

 

Blaine coughs, glancing over his shoulder, now grateful for Rachel’s loud voice.

 

“I appreciate that, I do.  But Kurt and I have only...started this, whatever it is, a couple weeks ago.”

 

Puck gives him an unimpressed look.  “Don’t be stupid.  Maybe you made it official or kissed or whatever two weeks ago, but you started your thing with him way, way back.  I’ve seen the way you look at each other; it’s only a matter of time.”

 

“It’s not that simple,” Blaine says.  True, he’s thought about it.  How could he not?  Every time he looks at Kurt, his blood starts pumping faster.

 

“Whatever, dude.  I’m just saying if your balls are turning blue, it’s not from the cold.”

 

Blaine sighs and rubs his forehead.  “Let’s just drop this conversation.  I appreciate your...concern, but some things are going to be private between Kurt and I, and I think he’d want this particular topic to be one of them.”

 

Puck is unfazed by Blaine’s clipped tone; he simply shrugs and tells him that between the six of them living in this restaurant, privacy is next to impossible.

 

Blaine knows it.  But those fleeting moments when he and Kurt manage to get some are completely worth it.

 

***

 

Blaine’s lips are on his, warm and soft.

 

Kurt laces his fingers with Blaine’s, shuffling a little closer to him on Rachel’s bed.

 

This seems to be the only place in the building they are ever alone, when Rachel is on watch with someone and tells them she doesn’t mind if they need to use her room for “quality time.”  She always says this with an exaggerated wink that leaves Kurt feeling mortified until Blaine kisses his cares away.  Brittany and Santana’s room is strictly off-limits, and Santana has an eerie sixth sense when it comes to intruders entering her territory, even when she’s not around.

 

So Rachel’s room it is, and Kurt couldn’t care less right now, because Blaine is lying on Rachel’s bed with him, holding hands and trading soft kisses and Kurt keeps having to remind himself he’s not dreaming these days.

 

He remembers the dream and frowns against Blaine’s mouth.  Blaine pulls back, looking at him carefully.  “You okay?”

 

Kurt nods, pushing it from his mind as he shuffles even closer and kisses Blaine again.

 

Blaine’s free hand slides from cupping Kurt’s jaw, down to his shoulder and then curving around, settling on the small of Kurt’s back and urging Kurt even closer.  Kurt shivers at the pressure.  It feels so good, but…

 

“I...I don’t…” For one panicked moment, he remembers the dream again as he tries to form the words he needs to put a halt on things.

 

But it turns out he doesn’t have to.  Blaine eases back again, and his hand travels back up, rubbing Kurt’s arm gently.  He doesn’t say anything, just hums softly, his eyes closed.

 

It’s at that moment Kurt realizes that there’s nothing to say: Kurt doesn’t need to explain himself or why he wants to stop, and Blaine feels no need to argue or grumble about it.  He chides himself for even thinking Blaine might.

 

He knows it’s stupid to keep things to himself, at least when it comes to Blaine.  There are plenty of things he doesn’t share with the others, but he remembers what Blaine said to Puck yesterday and knows it’s something they need to talk about, as uncomfortable as he might be.

 

“I overheard you and Puck yesterday morning.”

 

Blaine’s eyes open and he frowns for a moment before they widen further in recognition.  “Oh, Kurt, that was…”

 

Kurt shakes his head.  “I...I know you’re not expecting anything, Blaine.  I know that you’re patient and you care about me and how I’m feeling, and when I’m with you, I feel so safe, and connected, and...and loved.  I know I don’t have to be afraid.  But I also know that most romantic relationships, at some point, include it.  Sex.”  He swallows, looking down at his chest, but eventually he lifts his eyes to meet Blaine’s.  They’re warm and soft, and as Blaine takes his hand and holds it to his heart, Kurt knows he’s feeling the same sort of confused ache in his chest that he is.  “The thing is...I-I don’t know.”  He feels flush, but he places his palm flat on Blaine’s chest, feels his heart beat.  “I don’t know if I’ll ever want to, and, and I’m sorry.”

 

He knows, just as Blaine said, it’s not that simple.  He knows the warmth he feels when he’s kissing Blaine, the warmth that grows every time, that blossoms sometimes just when Kurt is lying awake at night and thinking of Blaine, is not from purely platonic feelings.  It’s something that cannot be separated out at this point from the bond of friendship, of caring, of love that they share.  But Kurt knows it is a hunger, a hunger he’s too afraid to really give voice to, at least out loud.  He can admit to himself that he wants Blaine.

 

But will he ever want to act on it, in the way everyone else seems to?  Will he even be able to?

 

He sighs and turns to fall from his side onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, feeling a sting of tears.

 

“Hey, hey…” Blaine’s hand brushes at Kurt’s hair, his fingertips skate over Kurt’s cheek coaxingly.  Kurt turns his head to look at him.

 

“Never apologize for that, okay Kurt?  There is nothing to apologize for.  Just...Puck can be an idiot sometimes, ignore him.  I love you.”  He says it emphatically, and Kurt lets the words sink down to the very core of him.  “I don’t need sex to want to be with you, Kurt.  Not ever.  And that’s all there is to it.”

 

They both know there will be more to it, someday.  What that will look like, Kurt doesn’t know.  What he does know is that Blaine’s words are enough for now, and he has some words of his own he wants to share.

 

“I’m so in love with you,” Kurt says quietly, and he hears Blaine’s breath catch in his throat, like he didn’t already know.  

 

Their lips meet again.  Some things need to be said out loud to truly be felt and understood.

  
And other things don’t need words at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes...yet another ridiculously long wait between chapters. I'll just hang my head in shame. I'm pretty sure no one is reading this any more, but my friend has been bugging me for a while to, so this one's for her!


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